Christmas in Sussex
by GoodShipSherlollipop
Summary: Sherlock and Molly Holmes travel with Mycroft to spend Christmas with the Holmes parents. Pregnant Molly has a secret she can't wait to reveal to her husband. Set several months after "A Journey to Love, Faith and Marriage." Sherlolly. Conservatively M-rated for sexy talk/scenes. Newly revised/edited/improved with extra chapter 12/20/18.
1. Christmas in Sussex

**12/19/18 - Special note before you read:**

This Christmas story from last year has been revised, edited, improved and extended to be eight chapters, instead of seven. As my writing has developed over the past year, I have worked on improving my style. In addition, this story was written before my major work, _A Journey to Love, Faith and Marriage_ , was complete. Therefore, some of the details about it ended up being in conflict to that work. I have edited the story so that it works correctly within the boundaries of my single universe I have created for my characters. I hope my readers will take a look at this and enjoy it before I publish my 2018 Christmas story, even if they have already read this story, when it was first published. Take another crack at it and let me know if you like the changes.

* * *

It was Christmas Day, and Mycroft had invited his brother and sister-in-law to accompany him on the journey to the Holmes country house in East Sussex, only a few miles east of Brighton. Sherlock had complained to Molly at the idea of being in the same vehicle as Mycroft for the almost ninety minute journey, but she had convinced him to accept the invitation in the spirit with which it was given.

Actually, Mycroft's company was much easier to tolerate these days. When he had heard of his sister-in-law's pregnancy, he had immediately gone out, (well, actually instructed his assistant, Anthea) to buy a baby Doppler monitor.

As he informed the expectant couple when he unexpectedly turned up at their flat a almost two weeks after they had informed him of their happy news, "I need to make sure my niece or nephew is healthy."

"Thank you, that was very sweet of you, Mycroft!" said Molly sincerely, followed by, "You'll have to excuse me..." She clapped a hand over her mouth and fled to the bathroom, and the Holmes siblings were subjected to the unmistakable sound of Molly bringing up the contents of her lunch into the toilet.

"I knew you would make her ill one day, brother mine," remarked Mycroft dryly.

Sherlock glared at him. "For your information, my wife has been suffering badly from morning sickness since last week." He knit his brow. "I don't know why it's called morning sickness either, because it happens at any time of day, or night for that matter."

"Well, you know what they say, a sick mother means a healthy baby," responded Mycroft with a shrug.

"Who's _they_?" demanded Sherlock, folding his arms across his chest in annoyance. "What do _they_ know? All I care about is the fact that my wife is losing weight because she can't keep anything down lately."

"She'll be fine," consoled his brother. 'Mummy once told me she suffered so badly from morning sickness with me that she was determined not to have any more children. Then, after I was born, she forgot about the morning sickness and wanted more children after all." He quirked his lips upward, as he added, "In hindsight, she might have been better off remembering her earlier resolve."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and scowled. "How is it you make a sweet gesture like bringing us this baby Doppler thing, then spout nonsense about wishing you were an only child?"

To Mycroft's credit he seemed somewhat embarrassed by his rather insensitive comment. "Apologies. Force of habit I suppose. You know I have a rather dry sense of humour."

"Well, don't let Molly hear you talk like that or she'll slap your face, and having been the recipient of her slaps in the bad old days, I can attest to the fact that she'll put the fear of God into you with one of them." Sherlock stroked his cheek absently, recalling the sting of those undeniably deserved slaps.

"Duly noted. I shall attempt to refrain from insulting you, at least in front of her." Then the older Holmes offered one of his rare smiles and Sherlock grinned back.

"I know you only tease me because you love me, big brother."

"Possibly." Mycroft conceded, then his face returned to its usual impassive expression. "I still find it almost inconceivable that you are going to be a father."

Molly came back into the room then, looking rather pale, but at least no longer as if she needed to be sick. "Sherlock's going to be a wonderful father, Mycroft," she informed her brother-in-law sternly, slipping an arm around Sherlock's waist . "He has had lots of practice already with Rosie."

"Learned how to change a nappy then?" Mycroft raised a disbelieving brow.

"Even the dirty ones," Sherlock proclaimed proudly.

He hoped Mycroft didn't hear Molly's aside to him, "While holding your nose."

Apparently not, because his brother looked rather surprised. "I'm impressed."

Sherlock looked down at the package containing the Doppler unit. "Says here you can detect the heartbeat from twelve to fourteen weeks, so we'll have to wait a bit to use it."

Mycroft looked from one to the other. "Well, enjoy your gift. I must be going now. Molly, I hope you are feeling better soon."

Mycroft had left, only to return periodically to "check-in" with Molly. He always had a little gift as well, sometimes for her, sometimes for the baby. Yes, Mycroft had certainly mellowed over the past few months.

Now, as they rode in the town car on their way to Sussex, the man frowned slightly at the antics of his brother and sister-in-law. Sherlock kept putting his hand on Molly's belly, insisting that he could feel the baby moving, while Molly told him he was imagining it, that the baby was most certainly asleep. Every now and then Sherlock would whisper something in Molly's ear and she would either blush or giggle, then shake her head. God only knew what inappropriate things his brother was saying..

Mycroft closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. Every now and then he would hear the unmistakable sounds of them kissing, making those little sounds that made him want to put in ear plugs. Really, it was quite nauseating the way they acted like newlyweds, despite the fact that they were going to become parents in a few months. Then he had to concede to himself that the pair was still barely past the honeymoon phase. It hadn't been their fault that they were obviously ridiculously fertile in getting pregnant on the honeymoon. How _pedestrian_ of them.

Actually, it was rather refreshing that they had done things in the traditional way. These days it seemed more people reversed the order of the last two from the old saying, "First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in a baby carriage." John Watson and his late wife Mary were a testament to that particular fact. Yes, Sherlock and Molly had to be just perfect in every way. Mummy was delighted about it all. Nobody could whisper things behind her back about her son and daughter-in-law having a shot-gun wedding. It was even getting hard to make fun of Sherlock, because he provided no new fodder for Mycroft to use against him.

Sure, it had been amusing to tease Sherlock about being a forty year old virgin when he and Molly had made the commitment to wait for their wedding night to be intimate, but that was long past, and Sherlock did not hesitate to flaunt the fact that forty years of abstinence had led to a good show of making up for it during his honeymoon. _Nope, definitely no more virgin jokes._

Then Mycroft thought again, he was being rather unkind. Perhaps he was even a little envious of the happy couple. It wasn't as if either of the two was in the first flush of youth. Molly was already thirty-seven and Sherlock would be forty-one before the baby arrived. They deserved the chance to have a family of their own, and actually he was rather looking forward to being an uncle.

There had been times over the years where Mycroft had thought his brother would die young, childless and alone. Thank God for Molly. Sherlock had completely changed for the better since "The Sherrinford incident" as Mycroft tended to think of it. The new, improved Sherlock was nothing like the thoughtless, brash young man who had caused him so much distress over the years.

The most remarkable thing though in Mycroft's mind, was the way Sherlock had completely changed his views about God. He had gone from being an atheist to a Christian, and the older Holmes sibling had to admit the change had been a very positive one for his brother. Sherlock had even embraced the idea of spending Christmas Day with the Holmes parents, and judging by the huge bag of Christmas gifts in the car, he and Molly intended to make it quite the celebration.

Mycroft's driver informed him they were nearing their destination and he opened his eyes. Sherlock and Molly were sitting together contentedly. He had one arm around his wife and the other on the gentle swell of her abdomen. They looked like they could be on the cover of some parenting magazine, he thought, pressing his lips together in distaste. _Sickeningly sweet._

After the limo had stopped in front of the entrance to the large country house, Mycroft was the first to alight. "I'll take the bag of presents, if you like?" he offered, and Sherlock handed him the bag, before assisting Molly out of the vehicle. Mycroft had brought no presents of his own, being entirely unsentimental about the holiday, but he knew his parents would undoubtedly have gifts under the tree for everyone, including the unborn child.

Mrs Holmes came out of the house wearing an apron with flour on it. She went immediately first to her daughter-in-law and enveloped her in a warm hug. "Merry Christmas! How are you and my grand-baby doing?" she asked.

"We're doing fine. No more morning sickness. Merry Christmas to you too," responded Molly, with a smile.

"I'm so glad to hear it. I'll have to tell you sometime of the awful morning sickness I had with both Mycroft and Sherlock. Not so with Eurus though." A shadow crossed the older woman's face, and Molly knew she was sad that Eurus could not be with them. Despite her progress and ability to carry on what seemed like ordinary conversations these days, there was still no guarantee she would not revert to the dangerous psychotic state she had been in before. It was unlikely she would ever be able to leave Sherrinford, although she had regular visits from her family members.

Violet Holmes then turned to her sons and kissed them both on the cheek. "I've just put the ginger nuts in the oven," she informed her younger son.

"You know me too well," said Sherlock, with a quick glance at Molly. She too kept him well supplied with his favourite biscuits.

Mycroft held up the gift bag somewhat clumsily. "Mummy, Sherlock and Molly have brought an enormous amount of presents. Where should I put them?" he inquired.

"Put them under the tree ," advised his mother. "Your dad's in the sitting room. Go and say hello. You too, Sherlock."

The Holmes boys, having been summarily dismissed by their mother, dutifully went into the house, preceding the ladies.

Mrs Holmes immediately took Molly to the kitchen. "Did you make them?" she asked conspiratorially.

Molly let out an annoyed exclamation. "I did, but they are in the bag with the Christmas presents we brought," she said apologetically.

Mrs. Holmes patted her hand. "No matter, we'll get them and put them on the table later." She glanced around to see that neither of her sons was within earshot. "So, tell me all about your scan, dear."

"It was incredible...Mummy," Molly said. She still felt strange calling the older woman Mummy, but Violet had asked her if she would please do it for her. She wanted Molly to truly feel like a daughter, and knew Molly had felt awkward calling her Violet. "Just seeing the baby on the screen was awe inspiring. I can't tell you how exciting it was, and Sherlock," Here Molly cast her own glance about the kitchen to make sure Sherlock wasn't nearby, "don't let on that I told you - he cried." Her lips tilted upwards into a soft smile. "Actually, we both did."

"Oh, that is so sweet. I can't wait to find out what you are having!" exclaimed her mother-in-law a little louder than necessary. She lowered her voice and continued. "So Sherlock has no idea about your plan? You're sure he really changed his mind about not wanting to know the sex of the baby?"

A bubble of laughter escaped Molly's lips. "Oh, I'm sure. As soon as my appointment was over, he was acting all jealous that the technician had told just me, because I wanted to know and he didn't. I mean, first he said he wanted to know, weeks before the appointment, then he changed his mind and said he wanted to be surprised." She pursed her lips and looked thoughtful. "I suppose if I hadn't wanted to know, and we were both in the dark, it would have been fine, but Sherlock does not like me keeping secrets from him. So yes, he definitely wants to know."

Molly thought back to the car ride they had just made. Sherlock had kept whispering things in her ear, things he kept tempting her with if she would tell him whether they were having a boy or girl. He had made her offers, starting with little gifts, and then offering different types of enticements which had made her blush, but she had steadfastly remained silent, however. She had her own plan in mind to tell him and the rest of the family at one time. Mrs. Holmes was the only one privy to the plan, having been the one to think of it in the first place.

Molly stayed in the kitchen, helping her mother-in-law get things together for the Christmas dinner. As soon as the ginger nuts were done, out of the oven they came, and back in went the turkey, which had been temporarily displaced in order to make sure Sherlock's biscuits were "as fresh as possible."

"You've done such wonders for my son," commented the older woman, as they scrubbed potatoes that were to be added to the oven roaster. "I've never seen him so happy, and he's certainly filled with the spirit of Christmas for the first time."

Molly's expression was soft as she responded. "That's because he knows what Christmas is all about now. We are celebrating the birth of our Saviour, after all, and spending time with family to celebrate that is important."

"If only Myc would feel the sane way," remarked her mother-in-law, with a little sigh.

"Oh, Mycroft has mellowed a lot too. You know," confided Molly, "as soon as we told him we were expecting a baby, a few days later he came over with a baby Doppler monitor. I think he's rather excited at the prospect of becoming an uncle."

"Not half as excited as I am at the prospect of becoming a grandmother." Mrs. Holmes gave her daughter-in-law a fond look. " I hope you won't mind us making frequent trips to London to see the baby when it comes."

Molly laughed, "More frequently than the monthly visits you've been making since Sherlock and I've been together?"

Mrs. Holmes laughed as well. "We _have_ been coming more frequently, perhaps to assure ourselves that our son really has found happiness. A year ago I was resigned to having two lifelong bachelor sons. Sherlock was still recovering from being shot and almost killed. Then, less than nine months ago, the drugs almost killed him. My boy has been through so much trauma and hardship." Tears formed in her eyes, but she blinked them away. "And now I've never seen a more loving and devoted couple. You're married and expecting my first grandchild. If only my older boy could find the same happiness."

Molly tilted her head as a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "You never know, Mrs...Mummy, Mycroft may surprise you yet."

"He did mention he has been seeing Lady Elizabeth Smallwood, but he made it seem they were just very casual about it." Mrs. Holmes looked suddenly thoughtful. "Of course, he _did_ seem to be quite involved in conversation with her at the wedding reception."

"I suspect things are a little more serious than that, but we'll see."

Molly knew Mycroft would be loath to admit it, but she had seen the softening in his expression when he talked about his lady, and he had indeed spent the bulk of her wedding day to Sherlock, at the woman's side, even dancing with her once or twice.

Once the dinner preparations were made, everything in the oven or in saucepans on the stove at low heat, the women set the table in the dining room. Mrs Holmes had Christmas crackers by each plate. The special "make your own crackers" into which Molly had carefully placed ribbons, would be added to the place setting later.

Then it was time to bring in the ginger nuts to the men and open the presents.

* * *

 **Author's note :** I just had to write a Christmas story in keeping with the season. This contains future content spoilers for my major work, _A journey to Love, Faith and Marriage,_ as we fast forward to Sherlock and Molly's first proper Christmas together, so I recommend you read that first.

I am rating this small multi-chapter story "M" because there is a bit of "adult" conversation and love-making involved as well, although not explicit. Hopefully I depict it tastefully. I have definitely seen more explicit stuff rated "T," but better safe than sorry, in my opinion. Married couples, especially newlyweds have certain urges ;)


	2. Exchanging Gifts

Sherlock was in the sitting room with Mycroft and his father. Molly had disappeared into the kitchen the moment they had arrived, and he was feeling a little disgruntled, having to entertain his father without her assistance. Molly could talk to anyone easily. Mycroft was no help, letting Sherlock carry the conversation.

They had indulged in small talk for awhile, his father asking about his latest cases and the like. Sherlock had told his father about the international drug syndicate he had managed to flush out that had been headquartered in London. With the aid of New Scotland Yard, the detective had managed to break up the cartel which was planning to release a new, highly addictive drug onto the market in England and the United States.

Mr. Holmes's only comment had been, "So that is why you seem to be a household name these days."

"Not by choice," Sherlock had informed him gravely. "It appears even the Americans know who I am these days. I've had to field questions from several of their reporters sent to London just to talk with me." He ran a hand through his hair distractedly. "If only Greg Lestrade hadn't blabbed that I was the one who deduced what was happening."

Surprisingly, Mycroft had said, "You earned the attention, brother mine. They should have given you a much larger paycheck than you got as well."

"I'd hardly consider twenty thousand quid a small sum."

"You saved both governments millions of dollars and countless lives. You're too damned selfless these days," was his brother's comment.

"That's what being a Christian is about, big brother. Doing things for others without expecting or demanding anything in return," Sherlock told him seriously.

Mycroft had merely rolled his eyes. Sherlock wished his brother would be more open to learning about Christianity, but it had to be his choice. Nobody could force him to believe.

Eventually their talk turned to the question he was waiting for from his father.

"So, son, how was the scan? Did you find out whether you are having a boy or girl?"

Sherlock's brows drew together. He was still annoyed that he had not been able to coax it out of Molly in the car. He had made several enticing suggestions to her, but she had remained tight-lipped. Why had he decided on a whim he didn't want to know the sex of their baby?

He had regretted it almost immediately, especially when the ultrasound technician had whispered into Molly's ear, and his wife had given a secretive smile.

He had predicted earlier in the month that the baby was a girl, but Molly's Mona Lisa smile told him nothing. Try as he would, he could not deduce it from anything Molly said or did. She had not slipped up once. She always said "the baby", never "he" or "she," and it was damned aggravating.

"I'm afraid I don't know, Daddy." He said mournfully, pressing his lips together. "I decided last minute I didn't want to know, so Molly found out, and I didn't. Now she won't tell me, no matter what I do to try and pry it out of her."

Mycroft laughed dryly, "So that's what you were whispering about in the car on the way here, isn't it?"

"Possibly," conceded Sherlock, folding his arms defensively. "I thought you were asleep," he accused.

Mycroft's lips twitched. "I wasn't pretending to be asleep at that point. It was only afterwards I closed my eyes. Remind me not to invite you anywhere with me again if I have to put up with the sounds of _snogging_ most of the ride."

Mr. Holmes roared with laughter at this, and Sherlock flushed and glared at his brother. "My wife and I do not _snog_! We _kiss_."

"Well you kiss too bloody loud then. It was positively embarrassing to listen to," Mycroft retorted, flaring his nostrils in irritation.

" _Maybe_ if you weren't pretending to sleep, Molly and I wouldn't have been kissing in the first place," sneered Sherlock, narrowing his eyes at Mycroft.

His brother merely snorted. "I highly doubt that. Perhaps I shall see if I can scrounge up some ear plugs for the ride home so I neither see nor hear the two of you."

William Holmes had been looking from one son to the other as if he was watching a tennis match. At Mycroft's last comment, he laughed again and slapped his knee in merriment.

"Like father, like son," he crowed. "I applaud you Sherlock. There's nothing wrong in thinking your wife is hot and tempting. I still think that of your mother."

Sherlock grimaced. "Daddy, I've told you before, I do _not_ need to hear those kinds of things about my parents."

The women entered at that moment. "What do you not need to hear about us?" questioned Mrs. Holmes, holding the plate of ginger nuts.

"I was just telling our son that I still find you hot and tempting, dearest," her husband supplied, with a broad wink.

Molly laughed and Sherlock continued to scowl. Really, she could have supported him and agreed that _that_ kind of talk was inappropriate for people of his parents' advanced age.

Molly nonetheless came over to him and offered him a sweet kiss that dissolved the frown on his face. "Sweetheart, where's the bag we brought?"

"It's under the tree right there,'" Sherlock pointed out, before taking a ginger nut, well two actually, from the plate his mother offered him.

"Don't you go spoiling your dinner now," chided his mother.

"Then you shouldn't offer me biscuits before dinner," retorted Sherlock reasonably, nonetheless following it up with an affectionate smile. Then he noticed Molly pulling out a smaller bag from the big one. "What's in there, Molly?" he asked curiously.

"Oh, I thought I'd bring some Christmas crackers," said his wife airily.

Sherlock furrowed his brow. "I could have saved you the trouble of bringing them if you'd asked," he told her. "Mummy always has Christmas crackers at the table." It was decidedly odd she had brought them without saying anything to him about it.

"That's quite alright," said his mother, and Sherlock narrowed his eyes suspiciously. His mother seemed a little too accommodating, but then again, he supposed it was good the women seemed to be getting along so well. "They are lovely. One can never have too many crackers to open. We'll do mine before dinner and yours afterwards, Molly dear. How does that sound?"

"That sounds absolutely lovely...Mummy," responded the junior Mrs. Holmes, darting a quick glance at Sherlock after she had spoken.

Sherlock smiled. He liked the way Molly was making the effort to call his parents by the same names he used.

Mrs. Holmes the elder left the room to place the new Christmas crackers next to everyone's place setting.

"Come and give me a hug, daughter-in-law," invited Sherlock's father, opening his arms to her. "Merry Christmas, dear."

"Merry Christmas to you as well...Daddy." Molly sounded uncertain, and Sherlock knew it was because she was unused to the word, having lost her father over nineteen years earlier.

Mr. Holmes engulfed her in a hug. "I like having another daughter," he commented, and Molly beamed at him, before walking to sit beside her husband.

Sherlock took her hand and squeezed it. "You were gone for ages," he said in a low voice. "What were you and Mummy talking about?"

She shrugged. "Oh, just girl stuff, you know - morning sickness and the like. I was also helping her get things ready for dinner. In fact, I'm already starving." She rubbed her rounded belly as she spoke.

"I missed you," Sherlock told her, giving her a chaste kiss on the cheek. She gave him a loving, dreamy smile which made his heart skip a beat. When she looked at him that way, he always wanted to take her in his arms, kiss her senseless and do unmentionable things to her.

"Don't look at me that way," he warned softly in her ear. "You know very well how I get. We might be married now, but I still can't very well just have my way with you in my parents' house before Christmas dinner." Her eyes opened wide and she blushed when he continued, dropping his voice even lower, "Of course I could be tempted to whisk you away somewhere right _after_ dinner to have my wicked way with you."

"Don't you know it's rude to have a whispered conversation when other people are in the room?" broke in Mycroft in a bored tone.

"I'd hardly need to whisper if the room was empty, now would I?" cane the rejoinder from the younger Holmes sibling.

The men glared at one another until Mrs. Holmes returned to the room and declared brightly, "It's time to open the presents!"

She went to the tree and took four presents from under it. She handed one to Mycroft, one to Sherlock and two to Molly, saying, "The smaller one is for the baby. Molly my dear, we have a tradition that one person at a time opens their gift."

"Just to draw out the torture," muttered Mycroft.

Sherlock thought with some surprise that it was he who would have made a comment like that in the past, but he no longer felt that way.

"You first, Myc."

Mycroft's lips tightened. "How many times, Mummy, do I have to ask you to call me Mycroft? That would be the best present of all."

Mrs. Holmes merely crossed her arms and tapped her foot impatiently.

"Oh, very well." Mycroft opened his small package. Inside was an antique fob watch. On the back was engraved "Mycroft Holmes." The man gave a little smile, "It's very nice, Mummy. Thank you both for at least having my full name engraved on it."

"You're welcome. Now you, Sherlock," prompted Mrs. Holmes, looking at her younger son.

Sherlock opened the package, restraining himself from blurting out his deduction that it was a picture frame. He saw he was correct, but it wasn't just an ordinary one.

"It's a digital picture frame,"explained Mrs. Holmes excitedly. "We thought you might like to have that when the baby comes. You can upload a bunch of photos and have then set to scroll through them."

"Of course, we hope you will send us copies of your photos too," added William Holmes, who as usual had allowed his wife to take charge.

"Now you, Molly. i hope you like it, dear." Molly's package was large and square. Sherlock was sure it was a photo album, but he said nothing, just waited for Molly to open her gift.

She opened it, and indeed it was a photo album. It was not an unused one however. Molly opened it to discover many photos of Sherlock, from infancy to his years as a scrawny, gangly teenager, then as a young adult. Sherlock was embarrassed for his wife to see the pictures but Molly's eyes filled with tears. "This is just beautiful," she said sincerely, wiping away some tears that spilled down her cheeks. "I will cherish it."

Mrs. Holmes beamed. "I'm glad you like it," she said. "I thought you might like to see what an adorable little boy your husband was, and what a handsome young man he was, when he filled out after his teenage growth spurt."

Molly chuckled through her tears. "He is like a fine wine, improving with age." Sherlock felt inordinately pleased at his wife's compliment.

"And now, the present for your little one," the older woman indicated the present in Molly's lap.

Molly carefully opened the package. Inside was a silver rattle on which was engraved _Sherlock_.

"It was Sherlock's baby rattle," explained Violet Holmes. "We wanted you to have it."

"It's so precious," breathed Molly. "The baby will love it, I'm sure!"

Sherlock heaved a slight sigh of disappointment at Molly's turn of phrase. She hadn't said "he" or "she." How long was she going to hold out on him?

"I'll get out our presents, sweetheart," he informed his wife, rising from the sofa to get the bag of wrapped gifts. He distributed the presents. There were three for Mycroft and three gifts for the Holmes matriarch, as well as one for Mr. Holmes. Sherlock put the almost empty bag next to him. There was one last present, but he wanted to surprise Molly with it.

"Go ahead, Mycroft," Sherlock said, gesturing to his brother.

The older Holmes brother opened his first package and found a coffee mug with the words "World's Best Uncle," inscribed on it.

"Ah, I shall enjoy agreeing with that statement every time I have a cup of coffee," remarked Mycroft, as his lips formed a slight smile.

The next package made Mycroft open his mouth in surprise. It was a framed photo of him from Sherlock and Molly's wedding, and he was mid-dance with Lady Elizabeth Smallwood. The photographer had managed to capture him with a rare smile on his face as he looked at the woman, who was also smiling at him.

"This..this is very nice of you," managed Mycroft at last. "How did you get this?"

"Our wedding photographer took it," Sherlock responded with a grin, then added, rather cheekily, "Don't even try to deny you have strong feelings for her, either. It's pretty evident by the way you are looking at each other." He was satisfied to see the flush staining Mycroft's cheeks. Ha, about time he embarrassed his brother instead of the other way around.

"Oh, let me see!" exclaimed Mrs. Holmes, taking the frame from her older son. "Oh. Myc! There's hope for you yet, isn't there?"

Mycroft's brows lowered ominously and his lips tightened. "Mummy, I know what you are thinking. I am well past the age to indulge in the bonds of matrimony."

"Nonsense, son," put in William Holmes, speaking up for once and giving his son a stern look that Sherlock had rarely seen outside of the occasions he had been reprimanded for some misdemeanour or another that had caused embarrassment to his parents.

Mycroft did not respond, but looked thoughtful as he opened his last gift and smiled. Inside were three classic movies, _Casablanca_ , _Some Like it Hot,_ and _It's a Wonderful Life_.

"Sherlock told me you were into classic black-and-white films," explained Molly, resting her hand on Sherlock's knee as she addressed Mycroft.

"That is very thoughtful of you, my dear sister-in-law,"and Sherlock could see that his wife was gratified to receive one of those rare smiles from his brother.

"Thank you both," Mycroft looked at them and nodded. Sherlock noticed that his brother continued to hold the framed photograph, glancing at it every now and then.

"Daddy," said Sherlock, indicating that his father should open his gift. Mr. Holmes was pleased to discover a pair of tickets to see a production of _The Phantom of the Opera_ at Her Majesty's Theatre in London on January 6th.

"Oh, we've never seen this one!" exclaimed William Holmes. "Thank you so much!"

"I have tickets for Molly and myself to accompany you that night also. I thought we would go out for dinner together first," Sherlock informed his father. He was quite proud of himself for having the idea for this gift.

"That would be lovely." The Holmes parents both looked pleasantly surprised.

Molly looked at Sherlock. "I didn't know you got tickets for us as well," she said, smiling at her husband.

Sherlock merely shrugged. "I was already online, booking the tickets, so I thought it would be nice for us to see it as well."

Molly leaned in and kissed his cheek, then said, "Your turn, Mummy," this time not hesitating over using the familial term.

Mrs. Holmes opened her first package. It was a lovely, soft pink jumper with white embroidered words "Best Grandma."

"Oh, this is just lovely," exclaimed the older woman. "I can't wait to wear it around here to show off to my friends that I'm going to be a grandma at last!"

Sherlock grinned. He knew that had been one of the things his mother had regularly bemoaned to him and Mycroft when they visited. She would complain that all of her friends had grandchildren, and was she doomed to never have any of her own?

On all those occasions he had just shrugged, certain his mother would just have to deal with it. Now, of course, things were completely different, and he was glad to have contributed to his mother's happiness.

The second package Mrs. Holmes opened was a large, framed photograph of Sherlock and Molly from their wedding day. Their photographer had managed to capture their joy and radiance as they looked at one another, rather than at the camera. Sherlock was standing, holding Molly from behind as they stood in front of a tree, as their bodies and heads were angled in a way so they could look at one another. Even on their wedding day, Sherlock had known it would be his favourite photograph, and a framed copy now adorned the mantelpiece in Baker Street as well.

"Oh, I have the perfect place for this!" Mrs. Holmes walked over to the fireplace in which a cozy wood-burning fire was merrily blazing, and set it onto the chimneypiece. Then she gave Mycroft a rather reproachful look. "Now, if only my older son would give me something to put up there as well," she said, emitting a long-suffering sigh.

Mycroft gave a little embarrassed cough and said, "Yes, well, shouldn't you open your other gift?"

The last present was a wedding album, with photos from the wedding and reception. It included the photo that was now on the chimneypiece, as well as the one Sherlock and Molly had given Mycroft. There was even a lovely photo of the Holmes parents themselves. This time it was the senior Mrs. Holmes whose eyes filled with tears as she hugged her son and daughter-in-law.

"This is so beautiful! I shall treasure it." Then she added with a half-smile, "Now I have tangible proof to show my friends that my younger son is actually married!"

The family laughed, and even Mycroft gave a dry chuckle.

"Well, I think it's about time we get ready for dinner now," announced Mrs. Holmes, reasserting control over her emotions. "William, will you come into the kitchen and carve the turkey for me, please?"

"Of course, my dear," responded the Holmes patriarch.

"I'll help get everything to the table as well," offered Molly.

The three of them left the room. "So you do like your presents? Especially the photo?" asked Sherlock with a sly glance at his older brother, who was looking down at said photo as if transfixed.

"What was that?" Mycroft blinked and looked up, then his face registered Sherlock's question. "Yes, very much so, actually." His forehead creased in a slight frown. "But I did not buy anything for you."

"You're always buying things for us, Mycroft," Sherlock pointed out truthfully. "Concert tickets here, honeymoon there. I think you've more than earned yourself something back. Shall we head to the dining room? I, for one, am starving." He stopped on the way to grab another two ginger nuts from the plate on the table to munch on as he walked with his brother to the dining room.

* * *

 **Author's note:** You will find another reference to the drug syndicate case in my one-shot _The interview_ , which is set two months later than this story.

Do you like Mycroft with Lady Smallwood? Are you curious about whether our couple is having a boy or girl?

Follows/favourites/reviews appreciated.

 **10/17/18** Wow, I must apologize if anyone read this before now, it had an insane amount of spelling errors. I wrote this prior to having a text-to-speech app which assists me with my vision deficiencies. Apparently my proof-reading was seriously lacking. That's probably why people never reviewed it, thinking the errors to be egregious and ruining the enjoyment of the story. Most amateurish *blushes* I have revised and edited this chapter to improve it significantly for future readers. It is my hope that future readers will enjoy this enough to boost those review numbers, especially with the extra chapter that will return it to the front page of Sherlolly stories. It really is a lot better with my revisions!


	3. The Big Reveal

Molly followed her parents-in-law to the kitchen.

Once there, Mrs. Holmes took the turkey out of the oven first so her husband could carve it. Then came the potatoes which were nicely roasted, plus roasted carrots to which honey was added. There was sage and onion stuffing as well as gravy.

For dessert, the Holmes matriarch had prepared steamed Christmas pudding which was on the stove, still covered to keep warm.

"I make it without the candied peel," she informed her daughter-in-law, with a smile and roll of her eyes. "Sherlock has always 'intensely disliked' it, as he would always say when I used to use it, so I stick with just the dried fruit now."

"That is one thing I do know," commented Molly, with a nod. "Neither of us is a fan of fruitcake for that very reason. Having fruitcake for the wedding was not our first choice, but there weren't really any other options we liked." She cast her mind back to their wedding day. Even without the candied peel, she and Sherlock had ventured only one bite each of the cake, then head shared the fondant, leaving the rest of the cake untouched.

"Oh, your cake didn't have the candied peel in it, did it?" remarked Violet Holmes, seeming to have only just recognised the fact.

"Nope. I asked for it to be omitted, so it ended up being a good compromise, and we didn't mind eating it," Molly responded, then added honestly, "Well, a bite of it anyway; the fondant was much easier for us to eat."

Mrs. Holmes gave her daughter-in-law an affectionate smile. "Well, you should be able to try a little of the pudding then - and don't worry about the brandy that is in it, because the alcohol dissipates during the steaming process, in case you're wondering. Sherlock will be pouring some brandy on the pudding as well which will be set alight, but of course that means the alcohol content will be burned off as well," she assured Molly.

Molly nodded. "Thanks for telling me. I've heard those things about alcohol of course, but to be honest, I've never cooked with it before, so I hadn't really thought about it. I will definitely try a piece."

"Just watch your teeth when you are eating it. I always put in a few 50p coins, so maybe you'll be lucky and get one." Mrs. Holmes patted her on the shoulder.

"What a fun tradition," enthused Molly, who was not familiar with that particular one. This really was already the best Christmas she could remember. She had worked on most Christmas Days in the past several years, when she had been estranged from her mother. The one exception had been "that" Christmas when Sherlock had hurt her terribly with his callous words. He had admitted to her during their engagement that it had been jealousy over the thought of her having another boyfriend that caused his cruelty, even though he hadn't acknowledged it to himself at the time.

Of course, they had recently re-created that memory to make a much more satisfying one. Molly smiled to herself, remembering the delightful new memory they had recently made. It had been a night to remember, in a good way this time.

Having a family to celebrate Christmas with now was a new experience, and one she hoped would continue each year. Perhaps next year she could see if her mother could come too.

With the turkey carved and all the dishes ready in serving bowls, save for the pudding, which would come out after the dinner, the three of them made their way into the dining room.

Sherlock immediately stood and took the dish of potatoes from Molly, setting it on the table. "You don't want to exert yourself too much," he told her firmly, drawing his brows together a little.

Molly rolled her eyes at her husband. "Sherlock, I love you, but you are being a teensy bit over-protective. I am quite capable of handling a dish of potatoes right now." Her lips quirked as she added, "In four months, maybe not so much."

Sherlock grinned unrepentantly. "If I choose to spoil my wife and be over-protective, that's my prerogative as a dutiful husband."

"That's right, son," approved his father, with a nod. "You take care of your lovely wife. When your mother was pregnant, I would give her daily massages and-"

"I do not need to hear the details," interrupted his son, waving a hand at his father to get him to stop talking.

Molly merely shook her head and smiled. Sherlock was ridiculously childish when it came to hearing anything related to "adult" situations between his parents. During one particular conversation during their engagement, the silly man had even told them he preferred to think that he had been delivered by a stork. That had been highly amusing to both his parents and herself.

With everything on the table, the Holmes family sat down to eat. Before they could start passing around the food however, Sherlock cleared his throat.

Everyone looked at him questioningly. "Maybe we should pray first?" he suggested, looking uncertainly at Molly.

Molly smiled at him proudly, Mycroft looked condescending, and the Holmes parents appeared rather pleased with their son's suggestion.

"You go ahead and do it," said Mrs. Holmes, smiling at her younger son.

"Okay." He began to speak, nervously at first, but then with increasing confidence.

"Dear Lord, thank you for bringing us here together to celebrate the birth of our Saviour, Jesus, and to enjoy this time of gathering together as a family. We pray you will bless this food and the hands that prepared it. We ask that you will bless us throughout the coming year and see that my wife safely delivers a happy, healthy baby, whether it be a boy or girl. Amen."

Molly's eyes had snapped open when he had mentioned them having a boy or girl, and she saw Sherlock's eyes were fixed on hers.

Everyone echoed the "Amen," even, surprisingly, Mycroft.

Molly squeezed her husband's hand. "That was lovely," she told him.

His only response was to purse his lips and ask in a low voice, "How much longer are you going to keep me in suspense?"

"Patience, my love," she smiled at him and he scowled briefly, but soon turned his attention to the food that was being passed around.

Once everyone's plates were filled, the Holmes matriarch announced, "Before we eat, let's pull the Christmas crackers I put on the table." With a sideways glance at Molly, she added, "Not the silver ones Molly brought, remember. Those are for _after_ the meal."

Everyone dutifully pulled the crackers which made an enormous pop and disgorged their contents. Inside each was a silly plastic toy and a coloured paper crown.

"Now everyone has to wear the crowns while they eat," insisted Mrs. Holmes. The family put on the crowns without a fuss, except Mycroft, who only complied when his mother put her hands on her hips and glared at him.

Molly heard him muttering under his breath, " _Sentiment_ ," in a disparaging tone.

Then the family ate the delicious meal, with only a few comments of appreciation or requests to pass this or that, in order to have seconds.

Molly did the meal full justice. It was so nice to have her appetite back again, and to be putting back on the weight she had lost due to the severe morning sickness that had plagued her during her first trimester.

Sherlock looked askance at his wife when she asked for a third helping of potatoes. "Don't even think about telling me I am eating too much," she responded to his look with an arched eyebrow. "Thanks to you, I have to regain the weight I lost."

"I didn't make you lose the weight," expostulated her husband, looking affronted. "It was the baby's fault!"

"And who, may I ask, is responsible for putting the baby inside me?" asked Molly tartly, pressing her lips together. She took a wicked sense of delight in embarrassing her husband.

"Your table talk is becoming as inappropriate as that of my parents," he complained, smacking a hand to his forehead and closing his eyes, while Molly and his parents chuckled. Even Mycroft had a half-smile on his face. It was obvious that in Mycroft's opinion, any time his brother was embarrassed was a good time, even if he was not the one causing the detective torment.

With dinner finished at last, Sherlock insisted that Molly stay seated, while he helped clear away the dishes.

Molly allowed him to do it. It was really very sweet that he wanted to take care of her and allow her to relax. She was starting to get a little excited at the thought of the surprise Sherlock would soon receive.

Mummy Holmes returned, carrying the Christmas pudding. Sherlock added the heated brandy to the pudding and set it alight.

"Perhaps you had better not eat any," he told her anxiously. "Alcohol is not good for the baby."

"Setting the brandy alight pretty much removed the alcoholic content, and the cooking of the pudding did the same for what was in it. What's left is not going to harm the baby. Your mother told me herself," Molly explained reasonably. "Besides," she gave him an impish grin, "I want to find some money."

Sherlock merely huffed and watched her eat her small piece of pudding as he ate his. They both found a 50p coin in their pudding. Mycroft found two, almost breaking a tooth on the second one, which he was not expecting. "Mummy, there is too much money in this pudding," he complained, much to the amusement of everyone else at the table.

An unrepentant Mrs. Holmes merely shrugged and said loftily, "Next time, watch what you put in your mouth instead of just shovelling it in there."

During their dessert, Mycroft's text alert sounded. "Excuse me," he said, pulling his phone out of his pocket, reading it, then frowning.

"What's wrong?" asked Sherlock, obviously noticing Mycroft's sour expression.

"It's my chauffeur," responded the older Holmes brother, with a long-suffering sigh. "It appears he has become a little too full of the Christmas spirit at the local pub and will not be in a fit state to drive us back home this evening."

"You can stay here," immediately offered Violet Holmes. "Your rooms are always ready for you."

"How exciting!" responded Molly enthusiastically. "Sherlock promised to show me his room, and now we'll get to stay there overnight." She was quite pleased at the thought of staying the night. The prospect of returning to London on the same day had not been a pleasant one. Three hours of travelling in one day was not her idea of fun, especially in the company of her brother-in-law. Mycroft had been insistent about them making the trip in one day, however, citing he had important things to attend to that evening.

"Thank you, Mummy," said Mycroft grudgingly. The man looked rather frustrated. He probably wanted to get home and do his work, thought Molly.

"You are most welcome, Myc." Turning to Molly, Mrs. Holmes said, "I'm sure there's something in Sherlock's wardrobe you can wear for bed. He still has clothes in there from his university days."

Molly slid a glance towards her husband, who gave her a wink, and she blushed. She knew night clothes would not be a requirement for either of them. They had made a mutual decision months before that they preferred to sleep next to each other without the hindrance of nightwear. Skin to skin contact was warmer, and much more satisfying.

Then she turned her attention towards her mother-in-law, who was saying, "Well, Molly dear. Do you think it is time we open those silver Christmas crackers?"

Molly looked over at Sherlock again. He was looking at her, a smile on his beautiful, sensual lips, but clearly had no idea what was so special about the crackers. "I think so," she said to her mother-in-law with a smile.

"Why don't we stand in a circle and do a chain of crackers?" suggested the Holmes matriarch, picking up one of the silver crackers and standing a little distance from the table.

Mycroft rolled his eyes but complied with the request, removing his crown first, as if in protest at all these silly sentimental things, and they all stood, linked together by the silver crackers.

Molly kept her eyes on the cracker between her husband and herself. This was it, the moment she had been waiting for all night.

"On the count of three, let's pull together," she suggested to everyone. "One, two, three!" Everyone yanked on their crackers at once, and with a loud series of pops, out fluttered five ribbons.

Sherlock gazed at the ribbons for a moment then looked at his wife. "Pink?" he said in wonder. Molly nodded solemnly and Sherlock picked her up in his arms, twirling her around. "It's a girl!" he exulted. "I _knew_ it was a girl!" He put Molly down , wrapped his arms around her properly an gave her an extremely long, lingering kiss, uncaring of who might be watching. Molly put her arms around his neck, kissing him back. Sherlock's reaction had been exactly what she had hoped, and she was thrilled that he was so obviously delighted.

An apologetic cough brought them back to reality, and they looked around to see both Holmes parents standing there with tears in their eyes. Mycroft himself had a suspicious shimmer in his eyes, although it may have just been a trick of the light.

"We're going to have a beautiful granddaughter!" exclaimed Violet Holmes excitedly, hugging her husband in her enthusiasm.

"Congratulations...again?" said a bemused Mycroft, unsure of whether congratulations were in order for a second time, upon learning of the baby's gender.

Sherlock, however, was grinning from ear to ear. "A princess," he whispered, taking Molly's hand and squeezing it. "We're having a little princess."

"Yes, we are," she confirmed, looking with adoration at her beloved husband, with that paper crown still perched on his head. _Princess_ indeed, she thought, _and a king for a father_.

"I guess we are going to have to start thinking of baby names for a girl," he continued in a low voice.

"I've already been thinking about it," Molly told him hesitantly. "What do you think about naming her Victoria, to honour the memory of your friend?"

Mrs. Holmes, with her sharp ears, had heard their words and broke into their quiet conversation with, "Victoria is a perfectly lovely name, and it was the name of a great monarch as well!"

"It's perfect, Molly," Sherlock said, brushing her lips with his. "Just like you."

* * *

 **Author's note:** I really had fun with this chapter, the anticipation of the reveal in particular.

I actually researched the question of alcoholic content in Christmas pudding.

As for naming the baby Victoria, that had been in my mind for months before writing this chapter.

I also researched the "make your own" Christmas crackers. I remember pulling crackers one year in Australia and wearing the paper crowns, so thought it would add a bit of humour (especially with Mycroft's reaction).

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I would love to know your thoughts on it. Did you like the unique way Molly revealed they were having a baby girl?


	4. Staying the Night

Shortly thereafter, amidst a lot of chatter, mainly on the part of the women about buying baby clothes for Victoria and talking about how exciting it all was, Sherlock decided it was time to show Molly his room.

"Come upstairs, Molly," he urged, tugging at her hand. "I promised to show you my room."

Molly looked uncertain, glancing at her in-laws before returning her attention to him. "Are we going to come back downstairs and visit with your parents some more?"

Sherlock's parents exchanged knowing looks. "It's been a long day for us all," said Mummy Holmes. "I think we are going to have an early night. Why don't you young folks stay down here and enjoy the fire for awhile? Sherlock can show you his room before you go to bed." With a meaningful glance at Mycroft, she added, "Myc, didn't you want to have an early night as well?"

The older Holmes brother huffed a little and his lips tightened almost imperceptibly, but said, "I suppose so. I'll see you all in the morning."

The three exited, leaving Sherlock and Molly alone. Still holding his wife's hand, he led her toward the armchair closest to the fire. He sat down and pulled her onto his lap.

He raised a hand to Molly's cheek and tilted her face towards him. "So, my devious little love, how long have you been planning this?" he asked, rubbing her belly gently, "and how is it that my mother seemed unsurprised at it?" he added, a little jealously.

"She didn't know we were having a girl," Molly explained, leaning into him. "Last time we spoke, when we were making arrangements for Christmas, you weren't home, remember?"

He kissed her hair. "Mhm."

An arm snaked around his waist, as Molly pulled back a little so she could look up at him. "I told her you had decided at the last minute you didn't want to know the sex of the baby, but that you regretted it immediately afterward." Her lips curved upwards and she continued. "She was the one who suggested I buy a Christmas cracker kit, and insert ribbons with pink or blue."

"Oh, so you weren't just keeping quiet to torment me in the limo?" asked Sherlock, suddenly realising this was why she had remained tight-lipped.

"Of course not," assured his wife, lifting a hand to tweak one of his curls. "I just didn't want to ruin the surprise."

Sherlock put his arms around her. "Now that you've told me, does that mean I have to follow through with all those things I was trying to tempt you with in the car?" he teased, tilting his head to one side.

"Mm, yes. A box of Ferrero Rocher chocolates does sound rather nice, and the flowers too," she teased back, with a flirtatious glance.

"Those were only my first two attempts to get you to spill your secret," he pointed out, inching his face closer to hers.

"Well , the fifteen minute back massage sounds nice as well, but the massage oil is at home," Molly noted with a pout, obviously pretending not to notice the proximity of his lips.

He closed the distance that separated them and settled a kiss on his wife's lips, then pressed soft kisses to her cheeks and her forehead. He moved his mouth to kiss the tip of her ear and whispered into it, "Rain check on that one, then. How about the next thing I offered?"

He moved a hand from her waist to lazily trail his fingers along Molly's jawline, then grasped the back of her neck to pull her towards him for a deep, more sensual kiss.

"I, uh," stammered Molly, once their lips had parted, "I think the rest of those things would be more appropriate in the privacy of your bedroom."

"So, you are accepting my, shall we say, _rewards_ for revealing the information about our baby?" His voice was very deep and he could feel Molly trembling. He knew it wasn't from the cold, as the fire was still burning brightly in the hearth.

"I'm not an idiot, Sherlock. Why on earth would I turn down the opportunity to enjoy such delightful things with you?" She raised both hands to clasp them around his neck and purr, "Isn't it time we went upstairs to see your bedroom?"

"That sounds like a very good idea to me," agreed Sherlock, moving his head towards her face once again, anticipating the sealing of their deal with another kiss. To his surprise and disappointment, Molly released her hold on him suddenly and hopped off his lap.

"What the...where are you going?" he asked, furrowing his brow in confusion as his wife hurried out of the room, towards the downstairs toilet. He supposed his mother must have told her where it was, because he had not even given her a tour of the house yet.

"Sorry, need the loo," she called. "You know, one of the side effects of pregnancy."

Sherlock groaned and waited impatiently for Molly's return. So much for being all romantic and lovey-dovey. This sort of thing never happened in films or those romance novels he had sometimes looked at, that Molly owned. Those people apparently had no bodily functions that needed to be attended to. As a matter of fact, he kind of needed to use the loo as well.

Molly was just exiting the toilet when he approached. "Aha," she accused. "Even non-pregnant people need to use the toilet once in awhile."

"Guilty as charged, love, just go back to the sitting room so we can pick up where we left off." he gave her a sultry glance. "No more excuses after this about needing the loo."

"It wasn't an excuse! It was my bladder, and I would prefer to not have the urge to use the loo during my rewards." She winked at him.

A couple minutes later, Sherlock found his wife sitting on the armchair. Something was dangling from her hand. He drew in his breath sharply when he realised it was her bra.

"I thought we needed to make up a bit for lost time." She gave him a seductive smile.

"Oh, my little vixen," he murmured. "It's very naughty of you to do that when my parents are upstairs." He slid his hands up inside her jumper to feel the creamy skin of her breasts, no longer covered by her bra.

"Good Lord, Sherlock," she protested, breathily, "I wasn't suggesting we do anything downstairs. I was just giving you a head start, as I said."

"Fine," he grumbled. "Upstairs with you, wench." He removed his hands from his wife's chest to give her a little swat on the bum, then raced her upstairs.

At the top, she stood uncertainly, not knowing where his room was. Sherlock took her hand and walked her down the passage that extended all the way to a door which led to his parents bedroom, which had its own set of stairs as well that was accessed through the small sitting room in which they had opened their gifts earlier. Turning her around, he indicated a door on the left, Mycroft's bedroom. The next door was for his own bedroom. He led her past it, however, showing her the bathroom beyond it, then took her hand and led her up the second flight of stairs so she could have a quick glimpse into the second floor which housed two more bedrooms that led from one into the other, beyond which was a huge storage room.

"There is one other bedroom as well," he explained to Molly, which had its own set of stairs and was above the extra reception room which lay beyond the large dining/sitting room where they had eaten their dinner. He didn't bother showing her that bedroom, because it would have meant heading back downstairs again to the ground floor.

Instead, he led Molly back down one flight of stairs and to his own bedroom, which was actually the smallest of all of them. He opened the door to his room and snapped on the light. "Welcome to my former domain," he told her with a smile, waiting for Molly to precede him into the room, before closing the door and turning the key in the lock.

Molly stood with her mouth open at the sight that met her eyes. The walls were lined with bookshelves, all of them filled. She walked around the bed which took up a substantial amount of the room itself, and ran a finger along the spines of some of the books - Agatha Christie, John Grisham, Stephen King. There were many non-fiction books as well, most of them related to crime-solving, chemistry, forensic analysis and the like. Her fingers stopped suddenly, and she turned to him. "There's a Bible here."

He looked at her in surprise. "Oh, I had forgotten about that completely. Mummy and Daddy gave it to me one year for Christmas when I was still in university. It was during my drug experimentation phase. I never really thought about it, but perhaps it was their way of hoping I'd one day get past those dark days and see the light." He gave her a rather pained smile. "I never even took the Bible back to uni with me, so I guess Mummy must have shelved it in here."

Molly smiled. "I know how happy they are now that you have become a Christian. This just shows even more how much your parents have always wanted what is best for you, despite their mistakes over what happened all those years ago."

Sherlock nodded. He harboured no resentment over what had happened, he had forgiven his parents, even as he knew he too had been forgiven for all his own mistakes. The past could not be changed. What mattered was the future and making the best life for himself and his family.

Sherlock watched as his wife inspected the rest of his room. She seemed utterly fascinated at getting a glimpse into his past. While she continued to move about his room, he turned on the lamp next to the bed, before turning off the bedroom light. Then she glanced down at the bed properly and remarked, "I'm rather glad it isn't a single bed, even if it does take up a significant portion of your room."

Sherlock chuckled. "It used to be a single bed. When I left for university I insisted I would not come home for holidays unless my parents bought me a double bed." His lips pulled up words in a smirk. "Perhaps I should have requested a queen-sized one, like we have at home."

Molly slid her arms around him, "A double bed is plenty big enough, we always cuddle together in the centre of the bed anyway."

That was true enough. Sherlock kissed her, walking her backward until her legs hit the side of the bed and she was forced to sit. He leaned over her. "Now, where were we?" he murmured silkily.

"I...I think you were going to reward me," supplied Molly, and he could see her chest rising and falling a little more rapidly than it usually did.

He kissed her neck, then the pulse beating frantically at the base of her throat. She was so lovely, his Molly, his beautiful wife, his heart.

She arched into him, pulling him down onto the bed with her, and Sherlock felt that heady desire he always felt when they were together. Her hands reached to undo the buttons of his suit jacket and shirt, sliding them both from his shoulders so she could splay her hands across his bare chest and feel his own heartbeat racing in rhythm with her pulse.

Then he lifted off her blouse and jumper in one smooth motion so he could crush her against his chest. He would never get tired of the feeling of her skin against his.

He kissed her, over and over, long, drawn out kisses that left them both gasping for breath and panting.

"Tell me, Molly," he asked, in his richest, most seductive voice, "what do you need?"

"You," she gasped as Sherlock caressed her body with his hands and his mouth, then returned to kiss her lips and whisper to her, "You know what the best part is about being married to you, my beautiful wife?"

"What?" she asked, trembling with the desire they both felt.

"No more cold showers every time I want to make love to you."

Then he was moving his mouth along her skin, divesting her of the rest of her clothing as well as his own. Two became one, in a union of heart, mind, body and soul, and it was beautiful as always, as God intended it to be.

It was afterwards, as they lay in each other's arms, slowly coming down from the rapture of shared intimacy, Sherlock's hand resting lightly on his wife's belly, that he felt it. A tiny flutter, a vibration beneath his fingertips. Not certain if he was really feeling what he thought he was feeling, he asked," Is your stomach rumbling, sweetheart?"

Molly gave a soft gurgle of laughter. "No, my dearest love. I think we woke her."

Sherlock felt a grin spread across his face. This was his best Christmas present, feeling for the first time the movement of the life they had created with their love, and his eyes filled with tears. He felt blessed beyond measure.

They drifted into a sleep of pure contentment.

It was several hours later when Sherlock woke. It was still the early hours of the morning and he had the sudden feeling that he needed to do something.

Then he remembered - the present, the one he had secretly brought for Molly. He had entirely forgotten to give it to her in all the excitement of discovering he was to become the father of a sweet little princess.

Carefully, so as not to wake his sleeping wife, he slipped out of bed and donned his boxers. He considered putting on his trousers, but decided to not bother. He was only going to be a minute. Fortunately the light was still on in the upstairs passage. He ducked downstairs, back to the small sitting room and spied the bag next to the sofa where he had left it earlier. He was just able to make it out in the light of the dying embers from the fire. Sherlock reached into the bag and pulled out the present, then hurried back upstairs.

He reached his room to discover it empty. Where was Molly?

The bedroom lamp had been turned on, and his keen detective eyes scanned the room. He noticed his shirt was missing from the floor and made the obvious deduction. His wife had gone to the loo, as she often did during the night now. Finding this rather fortuitous, he placed the gift on her side of the bed. Then he took his boxers off and slid back under the duvet. He leaned back against the headboard, resting his head against his hands nonchalantly and waited.

Molly returned to the bedroom a couple minutes later. "There you are!" she exclaimed. "When I woke and saw you weren't here, I thought you'd gone to the toilet, but you weren't there. Rather fortunate, seeing as I was busting for the loo myself." She gave him a grin.

Sherlock thought she looked positively adorable in his shirt, although it barely covered her, especially around the middle where her belly was threatening to pop his buttons. "I just had to run downstairs for something."

"What did you..?" She stopped speaking as she got to her side of the bed and saw the package sitting on the duvet. "What's this?"

"Christmas present," he said matter-of-factly.

"But we opened our gifts on Christmas Eve, because we were coming here," she said, furrowing her brow.

He flashed her a quick smile. "I saved one."

"Oh." She bent over and picked up the present.

"Get back into bed and then open it," Sherlock advised, lowering his hands so he could pat the space next to him. "It's too cold to be standing outside of the bed."

She lifted the duvet to get underneath it, but Sherlock stopped her and took the gift from her. "Shirt off," he ordered. "You know the rules about sleeping in bed. No clothes. You know I like to feel your body against mine."

"Yes, sir," she said, saucily unbuttoning it slowly and sliding it off before slipping her bottom half beneath the covers. Of course, the other half was still completely exposed and already tempting him. But first things first.

He dropped the rather amateurly wrapped package back into her lap. He knew he was rubbish at wrapping gifts, but he also knew Molly wouldn't care. "Now you can open it."

Molly unwrapped the gift to discover a small, square box. She opened it to reveal a delicate gold filigree cross necklace.

"Oh, it's beautiful, Sherlock," she breathed as her lips parted and she gave him a look that tempted him further. "I've always wanted a cross necklace, but I just never got around to buying one for myself. Thank you, my love! Will you help me put it on?"

"Of course, darling," he responded, removing the necklace from the box. He swept Molly's hair aside, kissing the back of her neck briefly, before fastening the necklace around it.

Molly fingered the necklace reverently. "You spoil me too much," she said, leaning her head back against him.

Sherlock laid his hand gently on her face, turning it towards him. "I like to spoil you, sweetheart. Wives, especially pregnant ones, are supposed to be spoiled." Then his hand drifted lower to trace one of her sweet curves. "But I shall not object if you wish to thank me properly."

Molly turned into him then and pressed herself against his long length, then threaded her fingers through his curly hair, kissing him deeply. This time she was the one taking the initiative, kissing his cheekbone, his jaw, his throat, making his heart race and desire stir within him once again. She kneaded his shoulders, then moved her hands to grasp his biceps before trailing her hands along his chest and inviting his mouth to kiss her again and again.

Sherlock's hands traced a course along the same path, massaging Molly's shoulders before travelling to her own chest and the delights of her womanly curves.

Suddenly she stiffened in his arms. "Sherlock," she whispered urgently.

"What, my love?" He was a little confused at her sudden stillness.

she chewed on her lower lip. "Ah...did you happen to pick up my bra when you went downstairs?"

"Nope," he said, popping the _p_ as usual, trying to coax her back into the mood with his mouth trailing feather light kisses along her torso, along those scintillating curves.

She gasped a little, then struggled to speak. "Sherlock. My bra, it's still down there! What if your parents, or Mycroft, heaven forbid, find it?"

"Don't care," he responded, continuing his ministrations and eliciting another satisfying little gasp of pleasure from her.

"But, Sherlock-" she tried again.

Sherlock moved his mouth and silenced her with a kiss, prolonging it until she relaxed once more in his arms and succumbed to his tender caresses. As far as he was concerned, if someone found Molly's bra before they could retrieve it, was it really a big deal? They were still newlyweds after all. If people came to the obvious conclusion, what of it? Newlyweds were expected to make love frequently.

This time, when he held her afterwards, Molly asked, bra subject completely forgotten, "Do you think we make love more often than most couples?"

He pondered the question. He had researched it somewhat and found that studies showed frequency to be somewhat, okay, _significantly_ less than theirs. "Almost certainly, but it's not really something we can compare." His arms tightened around her. "After all, I had forty years of celibacy first, so I have a lot of catching up to do, as do you, my darling."

Molly sighed happily and cuddled against him. "I love you so very much, Sherlock Holmes. I'm so glad you married me."

Sherlock's heart swelled with love for his wife and their unborn child. "As I love you. I'm glad you were willing to take me on as a husband. You've given me more than any man could ever dream of. I am blessed beyond measure." He kissed her hair.

With those words spoken, he allowed himself to sleep again, with his wife nestled securely in his arms, where she belonged.

* * *

 **Author's note:** I was originally intending to end this Christmas story here. Then I thought it would be fun to explore what happened next, with that mislaid bra, and who found it.

So this story will continue a bit longer.

 **Update: 10/21/18**

I do hope that some people are trying this out for the second time and enjoying it more than the first time, with the revisions and improvements I have made.

In fact, I completely altered the way I had originally written the layout of the house, in order to reflect the true layout of the home used in "His Last Vow". If you look up Trewallter Fawr, Vale of Glamorgan, you can see the listing for the house, with photos, as it was on sale recently for £950,000. There is also a floor plan if you want to be able to envision the house correctly. I figured I might as well use it, to be true to the idea of it being the Holmes house, although of course my house is based in Sussex rather than Wales, the real location of the house. I have been reliably informed that the value of such a house in Sussex would be significantly higher, so the Holmes family would have to be quite wealthy. The six bedrooms will come in handy for my 2018 Christmas story.


	5. Showered with Love

**Author's note:** This chapter has been revised and improved from the original and now contains a conversation about events from the end of Sherlock and Molly's honeymoon, a story which I had not yet written at the time of the original publishing of this story, so there are a couple little spoilers if you have not read _A Honeymoon Journey_.

* * *

Molly awoke to the sound of Sherlock's voice in her ear.

"It's after nine, love. We should probably head downstairs soon. Mycroft is going to tell us off for delaying his return to London."

Molly stretched and yawned in her husband's arms. "Do we need to go back home with him? I'd much rather not be the recipient of his icy glares for making him late for his date with his important work back home."

Sherlock raised a brow at her. "Well, if you'd rather spend an hour and a half in a cramped taxi-"

"Never mind," Molly said, sitting up in the bed, running a hand through her rather wild-looking hair. "Can I at least take a shower? My hair's a mess."

"I love it when your hair is all around your face like that," Sherlock murmured, nuzzling her neck. "You look thoroughly...loved."

Molly blushed a little at his words. Would she never stop blushing when he used that sexy talk and spoke that way? It was rather embarrassing at how easily she still blushed. "Well, I'm going to take a shower." she pursed her lips. "Can you, um, see if my bra is still on the floor downstairs?"

"I hate to say it, my darling, but chances are someone has discovered it by now, seeing as we are getting up so late," Sherlock responded, and she cringed slightly.

"Oh, dear God," she moaned in despair. "Not Mycroft, anyone but Mycroft!"

Sherlock kissed her forehead. "Better Mycroft than my parents, if you ask me. "You get ready for your shower, and I'll go in search of your bra. Then," he added, with a gleam in his eye, "I'll join you and scrub your back for you, and we can wash each other's hair."

Molly gave him a suspicious look. "Sherlock Holmes, don't even _think_ about us making love in your parents' bathroom."

"What are you talking about, Molly? I just said I would scrub your back and we could wash each other's hair," he said, attempting an innocent look that didn't fool her in the slightest.

Molly narrowed her eyes at him, despite the slight, betraying twitch to her lips that showed she was secretly amused. "And how many times have you told me that since we've been married? How many times have we actually just scrubbed backs and washed hair?"

"Well, there's got to be a first tine," he grinned at her roguishly, and Molly laughed, tapping his nose lightly with her fingertip. "You're insatiable."

"Don't pretend you don't love that about me, Molly Holmes," he responded, smirking at her and trailing a hand along her belly.

Molly blushed again and looked down at her taut abdomen. "Okay, it is rather nice to know you still find me sexy, even pregnant as I am."

"I find you even _more_ sexy," he drawled, rubbing his recently tapped nose against hers and kissing it, then capturing her mouth with his in a lingering kiss.

Molly broke the kiss first, saying, a little breathlessly, "I think you'd better go look for my bra now, before we end up making Mycroft even more cross with us for making him wait."

"Oh, very well," huffed Sherlock, reluctantly releasing his hold on her. He got out of bed and hastily dressed, not bothering with his suit jacket. "I'm still coming into the bathroom to shower with you," he warned her, with a seductive look that he knew always made her weak at the knees.

"Fine, fine. Now go," Molly urged. She watched as Sherlock left the room, hoping against hope that he would find her bra before anyone else did. What had she been thinking? _If Mycroft found it..._ She forced her thoughts away from the distasteful thought and got out of bed, walking naked to the wardrobe. Hopefully there was a dressing gown in there? She really didn't want to have to dress and undress again, just to take a shower.

Fortunately, she discovered a dressing gown, identical to one of Sherlock's at Baker Street. She sniffed it appreciatively. It smelled of his unique male scent that she loved so much. She slipped on the dressing gown, gathered up her clothes and padded to the bathroom. All was quiet upstairs and she assumed the rest of the family had gone downstairs. There was a distant hum of conversation filtering towards her. Perhaps Sherlock was talking to someone.

Once in the bathroom, Molly dropped her clothes, shrugged off Sherlock's dressing gown and gratefully availed herself of the use of the toilet. She might be over the morning sickness, but the frequent urge to relieve herself was not fun. She supposed it would only get worse as she neared her due date.

Molly flushed the toilet, washed her hands and turned on the shower, then waited for the water to get warm before she stepped into the tub. She pulled the curtain across and held her head under the water.

There was a soft knock on the door and Sherlock's voice said, "Can I come in?"

"Of course," she answered, and she heard him enter the bathroom, then close the door behind himself.

"There's my dressing gown!" he exclaimed, adding a little petulantly, "I was going to put it on."

"You were already dressed," remarked Molly dryly through the shower curtain. "I needed to put something on to cover myself. Did you find my bra?"

She could hear the unmistakable sound of Sherlock undressing as he said, "Um, yeah."

Molly bit her lip, all thoughts of washing her body forgotten as she asked with trepidation, "Was it on the floor where I left it?"

"Er, not exactly," came the reply from the other side of the shower curtain.

"Please don't tell me that Mycroft found it," she said, blushing at the thought.

Sherlock pulled aside the curtain and stepped into the tub with her, then drew the curtain back across. "Okay," he said agreeably, "I won't."

Molly caught her breath as she looked at her husband. His naked form was so perfect, it never ceased to set her senses on fire. He slid his arms around her, allowing the water to cascade over both of them. Oh dear, he really _did_ want more than back scrubbing and hair washing. Why she should be surprised about that was beyond her.

Attempting to divert his attention, she put her hands on his chest to prevent him getting closer and said, "Tell me what happened when you went downstairs."

He frowned at her, obviously aware that she was trying to distract him. "You said you didn't want me to tell you if Mycroft found your bra."

She tried to glare at him, but he looked so adorable with the water making his hair a curly mop, that she only managed to say breathlessly, reaching her hands upwards to touch and tweak his wet locks, "I changed my mind."

Sherlock leaned down and set his lips to hers, sliding his arms down her back, massaging it gently. "I'll tell you later," he murmured against her lips. There was a flannel over the lip of the tub that had obviously been placed there for his and Molly's use, and he released his hold on her to pick it up.

There was body wash also in a basket hanging from where the pipe of the shower head met the wall. Sherlock took it out and squeezed some onto the wet flannel, then began to wash his wife's body, taking special care around her breasts and her rounded belly.

Molly loved it when he washed her body. She could never reach her back properly and always felt cleaner when he scrubbed it. When Sherlock had scrubbed her body from head to toe, so she was tingling with the sensation of his gentle hands caressing her skin, he got the shampoo bottle, squeezed some onto his palm and washed her hair, massaging it gently into her scalp. It was better than going to a hairdresser, Molly reflected.

After Molly rinsed the shampoo out of her hair, Sherlock smoothed conditioner onto it, then said in his deep, sexy voice, "Your turn to wash _me_ , baby."

He didn't call her "baby" often, and it never failed to make her heart race. _Cheeky bugger_ , he knew exactly which buttons to press to get her all hot and bothered. Molly took the flannel and proceeded to wash Sherlock's body, concentrating for the most part on his back and shoulders, then his chest. She then washed the rest of his body, allowing herself a smile when she touched certain sensitive areas that elicited a small groan from him.

Finally, she washed his beautiful curly hair, massaging her fingers along his scalp as he had done for her. He rinsed the shampoo out, and she rinsed her conditioner out before applying some to his hair.

Having a shower together was a very sensual experience for them, thought Molly as Sherlock bent his head and gave her a fiery kiss. She thought vaguely that she should not have allowed him into the bathroom if she did not want her husband to take advantage of their state of undress. She maintained enough self control to ask, panting a little as Sherlock continued to kiss her shoulders, then the curve of her breasts, "Sherlock, what about your parents? We can't be doing this right now!"

He stopped his ministrations long enough to say huskily, "They've gone out for breakfast, Mycroft told me. Mummy is wearing her new jumper and wants to show it off."

He resumed kissing her, placing a kiss against her belly, and Molly trembled with the sensations he was evoking in her. "What...what about Mycroft?" she gasped, barely able to get the words out, and her hands grabbed Sherlock's curls from which the conditioner had disappeared, seeing as his head was mostly under the spray of water.

"Good Lord, woman," he said in an aggrieved tone, "you talk too much. Mycroft is in the kitchen, eating his way through leftovers. He said we are only leaving after lunch. Satisfied?" he asked, looking up at her.

"Yes, Sherlock," she said, allowing herself to relax and for their passion, always so close to the surface, to overwhelm them again.

Some time later, when the water had gone uncomfortably cold, the pair stepped out of the shower. Sherlock wrapped Molly in one of the fluffy towels that had been thoughtfully put on the washing basket for their use, then wound another around himself. "Let's go back to my bedroom to get dressed," he suggested.

Molly eyed him warily. "You're not getting any ideas to repeat this last exercise in the bedroom, are you?"

"Heavens, no," he exclaimed, rolling his eyes. "Even I have my limits. I need _some_ recovery time."

"Not much," she muttered, recalling exactly how little recovery time he had required during their honeymoon, before scooping up her clothes and the bra he had retrieved, and following him to the bedroom.

They dressed hastily. The cold air on their water dampened skin made goosebumps appear on their flesh. Molly put on her bra gratefully. She noticed it was not fitting quite as well as it had. Her breasts were definitely starting to increase in size due to the pregnancy.

Sherlock noticed as well and commented, "I think we need to buy you a larger cup size, you're practically falling out of your bra," then added with a smouldering look, "not that I'm complaining."

Molly wasted no time in pulling on her blouse and jumper. She was not going to give him any incentive to stay in the bedroom any longer than necessary. "So tell me what happened with my bra," she said, looking over at her husband who was buttoning his suit jacket.

"Well, as you've obviously guessed, Mycroft found it. I went looking in the sitting room and it wasn't there, then I went into the kitchen to grab a biscuit from the tin Mummy always puts them in." He paused, then said, "Actually, I'm quite famished, come to think of it."

"Finish your story," ordered Molly impatiently, putting her hands on her hips.

"Oh, okay," her husband's eyes focuessed once again on her. "Mycroft was in the kitchen. As I said, he was busy eating leftovers. Well, he pulled the bra out of his pocket and dangled it in front of me saying, 'Looking for something?'"

Sherlock paused and his lips curved into a smirk. "I just took it from him and said 'At least two people in this house got lucky last night, more than once, actually.' You should have seen the way he blushed, Molly."

Molly covered her face with her hands. " _Oh. My. God._ I am never going to be able to look at him in the face again!"

"Why, sweetheart? We're married. Married couples have sex, actually unmarried ones do too, but that's beside the point. The child you are carrying is a testament to that fact. Why should we be ashamed of it?"

Molly peeked through her fingers. "Because, because it's _us_ , he's your brother and it's _embarrassing_."

He furrowed his brow at her. "You weren't acting so coy when we came back from our honeymoon and you informed Mycroft that the frequency of our lovemaking was three times a day at a minimum. Oh, and don't forget that you hinted heavily about what happened on the plane during our return journey." He waggled an eyebrow at her.

She had to give him that one. "Well, um, I was just trying to support you." Then she narrowed her eyes at him. "As I recall, you specifically _requested_ my confirmation that you were actually adequate in the bedroom, so I was acting as the dutiful wife. In any case, that was then, this is now, and I think it is embarrassing to flaunt our sex life in front of your brother."

Her husband smirked as he stepped closer and looked down at her. "I don't find it embarrassing at all to make things transparent for my brother. We are just doing what millions of couples are doing, and doing it very satisfyingly, even months after the honeymoon, I might add," he said mischievously.

Molly snorted and tapped an accusing finger against his torso. "And yet you don't want to hear about your parents having sex."

He grabbed at her hand and growled, "That's different. They're my _parents_ , Molly. Nobody wants to think of their parents having sex."

Molly had to concede the point. Her father had died when she was eighteen, and she hadn't really thought about her parents having sex. It _was_ a little disconcerting, she realised.

Sherlock smiled triumphantly, lacing his fingers with hers. "See, now you get what I mean, don't you?"

"I guess so," said Molly in a small voice. "Hang on a minute," she said, furrowing her brow. "Something isn't adding up here." She pulled Sherlock with her and sat on the unmade bed, idly noting it was extremely rumpled, and she would definitely have to make it before they went downstairs if they wanted to hide the evidence of their previous night's sexual activities.

"What do you mean?" asked Sherlock, sitting beside her, also furrowing his brow in confusion.

She nudged him with her shoulder. "Well, you have no problem informing Mycroft about 'getting lucky' more than once, but then you acted all offended and embarrassed when I made an innocent comment last night at dinner, saying you were the one who put the baby in me."

"Sweetheart," said Sherlock patiently, looking at her solemnly and talking in a manner as if she were a very small child, "that's because I don't want my parents to know we are having sex, any more than I want to know about them having it."

"Seriously?" Molly hooted with laughter. "I think they know, Sherlock." She pointed to her belly.

"You know what I mean," he huffed. "It should remain unspoken, just as they need to keep their own inappropriate comments about their sexual relationship to themselves."

By this time Molly was laughing so hard, tears of mirth were gathering in her eyes. "You are so funny, my darling husband!" Sobering a little at the look of indignation on Sherlock's face, she continued, "What I don't understand though is why you have no compunction in discussing our sex life with your brother."

Sherlock shifted slightly so he could grasp her other hand, playing with her engagement ring between his thumb and forefinger, as he was wont to do at times. "I guess it's a male thing. You have to understand, Molly. When we were engaged, it kind of came out in conversation with Mycroft that I was a virgin. I told him we were waiting till we got married to make love."

"I know that already," said Molly, chewing on her lower lip thoughtfully. "To be honest, it has crossed my mind to wonder why he would even have cared whether you were a virgin or not."

"Well, the point is, my darling, he _did_ seem very interested in that fact, and he took every opportunity after he found out - well most opportunities at least - to make fun of me. I'm well aware that most men my age have had several lovers, so forty year old virgins are in short supply."

"Well, you're certainly no virgin anymore, and I, for one was very glad we were both virgins, because it made our wedding night even more special." She couldn't help reflecting on that perfect night for a moment. Then she returned her thoughts to the present conversation about Mycroft. "But I think I understand now," she said slowly, pulling her hands from Sherlock's grasp so she could slide her arms around his waist. "It's like a rite of passage, to show your brother you are not the sweet innocent you were before, right?"

"Exactly." Sherlock nodded, putting his arm over her shoulders and giving them a squeeze.

Molly suddenly had another thought, and raised her eyes to look at Sherlock. "I'm still confused. Last night, when I asked if you'd found my bra, and worried about Mycroft _or_ your parents finding it, you said you didn't care."

"You are making my brain hurt," Sherlock complained, rolling his eyes skyward and blowing out a slow, cleansing breath before continuing. "When you asked me that, I was more concerned with what we were doing at the time. My mind was focussed on other things."

Molly pondered that for a moment, then decided she finally had everything straight. "So basically, what you are saying is, you would prefer your parents not be overtly informed of our nocturnal activities, although it's okay if you are too busy seducing me to worry about it. As for Mycroft, you are quite happy for him to know the frequency of said nocturnal activities so you can boast of your sexual prowess."

"Once again, you talk too much, my lovely wife," said Sherlock with a deep, rumbling chuckle, before planting a kiss on her lips. "But basically, yes. Now, let's make the bed so my parents don't know what we've been doing, and get downstairs. I'm hungry."

And with that, the couple made the bed so it looked as if nobody had slept there and headed downstairs.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Okay, this is definitely a spicy chapter, what with the shower scene and all the talk about sex. But hey, I stand by my convictions...Sherlock and Molly are newlyweds. Aren't you glad I didn't end the story at the last chapter and leave you in suspense about Molly's bra?

Reviews welcome.

 **11/7/18** Revisions and improvements made with better imagery, characterization and added conversation that ties into their honeymoon story.


	6. Mycroft's Decision

Mycroft had been awake since six-thirty. After his parents had basically forced him to retire at an inordinately early time, he had had enough sleep, even if he had lain awake for some time, especially in light of the fact that his brother and sister-in-law were apparently enjoying their still newlywed status. It wasn't that they were particularly loud once they retired to Sherlock's bedroom, but well, there was _only_ a wall separating the two rooms.

Mycroft couldn't help feeling a little jealous that he too was not enjoying the delights of his woman's company that night as had been his original plan, thwarted by his chauffeur's thoughtless actions in imbibing too much at the local pub.

The older Holmes brother dressed and headed downstairs to the sitting room. Seeing that the fire was out, he added wood and rekindled it, then sat in the armchair, allowing the fire to warm him. His fingers dangled over the edge of the chair and touched something lacy. Lifting it up, he saw it to be a woman's bra, obviously belonging to his sister-in-law. Apparently Sherlock and Molly had been indulging in a little fun _before_ they headed for the bedroom, he thought wryly.

His first impulse was to drop the bra, but he changed his mind and pocketed it instead. Better that he hold onto the evidence of his brother and sister-in-law's nocturnal activities, rather than potentially scandalise his parents about possible carryings-on in a place other than the bedroom. He found it a little scandalous himself, although obviously it _had_ been merely the pre-cursor to said activities, judging by the slight sounds that had come from Sherlock's bedroom. At the same time, he was also inwardly glad that his brother had so evidently thrown himself into married life with such enthusiasm after so many years of solitude. He rather regretted the way he had tried to spare his brother potential heartache by stating that caring was not an advantage. In Sherlock's case, he had been completely in error.

Mycroft pondered those rather callous words for himself now as he looked at his phone and re-read the text he had received after he had gone upstairs to bed. It read, _It's very disappointing to be in a luxury suite alone on Christmas Day._

Nobody had been aware of the reason he wanted to get back to London on the evening of Christmas Day. He had booked his favourite luxury suite at the Ritz for three days, planning on taking a few days off to be with his favourite lady, Elizabeth.

When the chauffeur had texted him to say apologetically that he was in no fit state to return to London on Christmas evening, Mycroft's first instinct had been to fire the man immediately and throw his phone down in a tantrum. But his stiff upper lip had prevailed as it always did, and he had merely accepted the invitation to stay overnight at his parent's house.

Why had he not just taken a taxi home and left the limo for Sherlock? He was paying for a damned suite that he wasn't able to use, and he was a ninety minute drive from the woman he cared about.

Mycroft had never been one to overtly express emotion. Unlike Sherlock, whose very nature was an emotional one that had been artificially repressed due to the traumatic events of his childhood, Mycroft simply didn't feel anything very strongly. He was the epitome of the classic English gentleman, stiff upper lip and all. He'd had several affairs over the years, even a rather unexpected one-night-stand with a colleague following a celebration over successfully completing an important job for the royal family which had resulted in his subsequent promotion to bigger things, and laid a path to his current influential position. Those past affairs had been of a perfunctory nature, more an outlet to satisfy his natural urges, rather than to nurture an emotional attachment.

With Lady Elizabeth Smallwood, it was different. He had been seeing her now for almost a year, since shortly after her husband committed suicide, and she had furnished him with her private number. They worked together and had common interests. Both of them had enjoyed their infrequent sexual encounters, but lately he had been wanting to spend more time with her.

Mycroft stared sightlessly at the flames, not noticing the crackle and pop as the wood settled lower in the grate. What did he want, exactly? He had told his mother he was too old to think about getting married, but was that really the case? Did he love Elizabeth?

Mycroft decided it was time he set his genius mind to work on the problem. He didn't think of his brain as a mind palace, the way Sherlock did, but he was intellectually superior to his younger brother. Surely his superior brain could figure this conundrum out once and for all?

Mycroft thought about his relationship with the widow, and how it differed from his previous relationships. With his other women, their assignations had been on a short notice basis. He called them, they arranged a meeting, and a mutually satisfying time was had by both. No commitment, no promises or false words of love. There were many lonely women out there who just craved occasional companionship and he had felt the same. With Elizabeth though, he planned things in advance.

Elizabeth never demanded he spend time with her, yet she was always accommodating to his wishes. They spent time together outside of work, comfortable in each other's presence. She had visited his house on several occasions to watch classic films with him. No other woman had ever frequented his residence, let alone shared his interest in old films. Yes, it was comfortable, being with her.

Mycroft pondered further. He had booked the Ritz suite for three days, thinking of it as a Christmas present to himself and knowing he would need a getaway after spending time with his family. He had asked Lady Smallwood to join him, thinking it would be significantly preferable to spend the time with her, rather than by himself. As always, she had complied to his wishes, agreeing to meet him late on Christmas Day so they could spend a mutually satisfying night together in the rich opulence of the famous hotel. They had been there on several occasions together. He had never brought any of his other paramours to the Ritz. Elizabeth required more refined accommodations, in his mind.

The older Holmes brother picked up the photo with the image of himself and Elizabeth and looked at it. He was still puzzling things out in his mind when he heard his parents come downstairs. The elder Holmeses were aware that he had been seeing Elizabeth. He had told his mother so, just to get her off his back with her constant plaguing of him to marry. He had downplayed the relationship however, not wanting his mother to have any unrealistic expectations.

"Good morning, Mycroft," said Mummy Holmes, entering the sitting room and kissing his cheek. "Did you sleep well?" She was wearing the jumper Sherlock and Molly had given her the previous evening.

"I slept well, Mummy," he responded in his usual polite manner. "What are you up to?"

Mrs. Holmes beamed at him. "Your father and I are headed out to the shops. We're going to have a nice breakfast at the local café."

"And undoubtedly you are hoping some of your friends will see you there," remarked her son knowingly, with a pointed look at her attire.

"There is that," she agreed, with a smirk. "There's plenty of food leftover from last night. Feel free to eat whatever you want. Your father and I will never get through it all. We'll make up some turkey sandwiches for you to take home later too." She noticed the photo in Mycroft's hands. "I do think you need to seriously consider your future with your lady friend. You do look rather happy together." she raised an eyebrow and looked at him hopefully. "Perhaps you should make an honest woman of her."

Mycroft groaned and ran a hand through his thinning hair. "Don't push me, Mummy. I have things to think about."

"I'm sure you'll make the right decision," said his mother confidently, giving him another kiss on the cheek. "We'll see you later."

"Listen to your mother," was William Holmes' only comment before they left.

Mycroft plodded to the kitchen, made himself a coffee and piled a plate with leftovers which he heated up in the microwave. He texted his chauffeur, requesting a pickup after lunch, and the chauffeur responded, confirming a one o'clock arrival. He was contentedly eating, looking at the picture of himself and Elizabeth which he had propped upright on the table, when he heard Sherlock come downstairs.

Within a few minutes his brother came into the kitchen, looking a little flustered. Mycroft knew immediately what Sherlock had been doing.

"Where are Mummy and Daddy?" Sherlock asked tentatively, and Mycroft almost laughed. It was so obvious his brother was concerned that they might have found that lacy bra.

"Mummy wanted to show off her new jumper in public, so she and Daddy went out for breakfast a little while ago," he explained.

"Oh," responded Sherlock, looking uncertainly at Mycroft, who decided to put his brother out of his misery.

He calmly pulled the bra out of his pocket and held it up, asking dryly, "Looking for something?"

Sherlock snatched the bra with a little sigh of relief. Seeming to recover himself, now that the item had been successfully returned to his possession, he said with a smirk, "Thanks. At least two people in this house got lucky last night - more than once actually," and Mycroft flushed with colour at his brother's words. He was tempted to tell his brother he was perfectly aware of Sherlock's sexual activity during one of those occasions, but that was a little _too_ much information to impart, even for him, so he kept silent. In any case, he rather thought Sherlock would probably not be concerned about being overheard by his brother. Molly would be the one to feel embarrassed, and Mycroft truly respected her to the point he would not wish her any discomfort.

Of course, she _had_ actually been rather forthright about what she and Sherlock had been up to, on the day they had returned from their honeymoon, but that was almost certainly Sherlock wanting his wife to confirm he was no longer a virgin. Mycroft had even commended Molly on being a good, loyal wife after she had been so surprisingly candid about their sexual activity.

Happily oblivious to his brother's inner thoughts, Sherlock gave Mycroft an altogether too cheery wave and returned upstairs. Mycroft thought resentfully that _he_ would have been the one "getting lucky" the previous night, if not for his blasted buffoon of a chauffeur.

His brother had looked so smug and Mycroft envied him, he couldn't help it. Sure, he had teased Sherlock endlessly about his resolve to wait for the wedding night to consummate his relationship with Molly, but secretly, he felt jealousy at the obvious joy they found in one another. Why couldn't he have that too?

Suddenly it struck him. Why _couldn't_ he have that too? Mycroft looked again at the framed photograph. Lady Elizabeth did give him this warm feeling whenever he saw her, and he had been very piqued at being unable to go to her the previous evening. Was that love? That feeling of being happier when you were with someone than when you were apart?

By Sherlock and Molly's standards, it was obviously true. They radiated warmth in each other's presence, glowed with an inner light that was evident to everyone around them. They were a team, inseparable and devoted to one another.

It was kind of the way he felt when he was with his lady - _better_. They were better together. He looked forward to spending time with her, inside and outside of work. And it struck him all at once. He, Mycroft Holmes, loved Lady Elizabeth Smallwood. He _loved_ her. Suddenly, he realised he had to be with her at all costs. To hell with waiting for the chauffeur to come for them after lunch. He was going to take a taxi to London, find his lady at the Ritz and show her how much he cared.

Mycroft called the local taxi service for immediate pickup, then sent a text to Lady Smallwood. _Hang tight and don't leave. I am taking a taxi back to London and leaving the limo for my brother. I have urgent business to discuss with you. I should be there by one._

Her response came almost immediately. _Very well, Mycroft. I hope you had a good Christmas with your family._

Sherlock and Molly entered the kitchen as Mycroft sent another text back, smiling to himself. _It would have been better if you had been here. Maybe next year._

He looked up at his brother and sister-in-law. Molly looked a little flustered, he noted, probably the bra thing.

"Don't worry about the bra," he said, in a kindly manner. He was quite fond of his sister-in-law, after all. "I made sure I kept it safe for you so my parents wouldn't see it."

Molly looked surprised, but gave him a rather shy smile. "Thank you, Mycroft."

Looking at Sherlock, Mycroft said, "The limo will be here at one. Enjoy it with my compliments. Call it a belated Christmas present. The driver can take you home, and then you can send him on his way. I'll contact him when I require his services again. I need to take a taxi back to London immediately, urgent business to attend to."

The honk of the taxi's horn alerted Mycroft to the fact that it had arrived. He picked up his precious photo, threw on his coat and said, "Say goodbye to Mummy and Daddy for me. Tell them I'll speak to them soon - oh, and tell Mummy, tell her thank you."

With that, he was out the door, into the taxi and making his way back to London to see his lady, his Elizabeth, the woman he loved.

* * *

 **Author's note:** I know this isn't a Sherlolly chapter, and I had planned to end the story before this, but dang it all, I'm a romantic, and I like to develop the stories of my peripheral characters along with Sherlock and Molly. I think Mycroft deserves a chance at happiness, and who better than Lady Elizabeth Smallwood, an intelligent colleague who showed interest in him during the last season.

Of course, I can't finish with a Mycroft chapter, so I need to write more...

Please read and review. What do you think about Mycroft getting a heart and losing it to Lady Smallwood? I have seen stories where he is paired with Anthea, but I think he has far more in common with the more comparably aged Elizabeth, so she is my choice as a fitting partner for his intellect. My only regret is that this pairing pretty much shuts the door on him having children, as Lady Smallwood is obviously past child-bearing age. Oh well, Sherlock and Molly will just have to make up for it!


	7. Time with the Holmes Parents

Sherlock's mouth dropped open as his brother flew out the door to the waiting taxi.

"What the heck was that all about?" Molly echoed his unvoiced sentiment.

"I have no idea." Sherlock went back into the sitting room, where the fire was once again blazing merrily, no doubt due to Mycroft's attentions. He saw the pile of gifts that had been given to his brother, lying forgotten on the floor. The only present Mycroft had taken was that photo of Lady Smallwood. He looked at Molly who was following closely behind.

"He left all his presents, how curious," she remarked, sliding an arm around his waist.

Sherlock's lips curved upwards in a conspiratorial smile. "Not _all_ of them. He took the picture we gave him. I deduce, though I may be completely wrong, that my brother's 'urgent business' is with her."

Molly turned her head to look up at him. "Do you really think so?"

"Quite possibly," responded Sherlock, sliding his own arm absently around her shoulders before staring into space and following a train of thought. "I wonder-"

"Wonder what, honey?" prodded Molly, after he remained silent for several seconds.

He looked down at her, brow furrowed. "Well, you know how insistent he was that we make the trip to here and back in one day?" He guided Molly over to the sofa and they sat.

"Yes of course," Molly responded, with a look of inquiry at him. "What does that have to do with Lady Smallwood?"

Sherlock pursed his lips and responded slowly, still puzzling things out for himself. "Well, when my brother found out the chauffeur was not going to be able to take us back to London last night, he was not pleased."

"Of course not. Mycroft likes everything to be in perfect order. He is a creature of habit," pointed out his wife, taking his hand to lace their fingers together.

He shifted slightly to look at her more directly. "Yes, that's true - but what if the reason he was so put out was because he had another engagement he had arranged for after our return?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, I see what you are getting at. You think he was planning to see Lady Smallwood last night?" asked Molly, seeming to finally understand what he was getting at.

Sherlock's lips twitched with amusement. He was used to Molly being quicker on the uptake at following his line of thinking, but she was finally on the same page. Perhaps pregnancy was making her a little slower at following his reasoning - not that he would ever say that out loud to her. He wasn't a complete idiot. "Possibly. I can't say for certain, but it makes sense. There was this strange look on his face when Mummy said there was still hope for him. He immediately jumped to the conclusion that she was talking about marriage. Why would he have done that?"

"You're right,"Molly breathed. "I wonder if he has started to think of her as more than an occasional escort? In that photo he really did seem quite happy."

"To leave us the limo to go home in, while he takes a taxi-" He smirked at her. "Molly, I think my brother may have actually fallen in love."

She tilted her head slightly, considering his words. "If that's the case, good for him. He needs someone in his life to soften those rough edges."

Sherlock looked at her tenderly, "Like you did for me?"

"No, my love," she responded softly, stroking his cheek. "You just had layers that needed to be peeled away to reveal your true self."

Her analogy was so sweet he couldn't help himself. He pulled her onto his lap and lowered his lips to hers, giving his wife a long, lingering kiss that seemed to go on forever. He clasped her to him, savouring the feel of her lips, as she wrapped her arms around his waist. They sat there for some time, kissing, breathing in each other's scent until they heard the front door opening. Mummy and Daddy Holmes were home.

Mrs. Holmes peeked into the sitting room and glanced at the couple who still had their arms entwined. "Good morning dears," she said casually, before disappearing in the direction of the kitchen.

She reappeared a few moments later. "Where's my other son? Did he go to the loo? It's not like him to leave the table when there is still food on his plate."

"Speaking of the loo, I need to go," Molly said, ducking out of her husband's arms and leaving him to make the explanations.

"Mycroft left a little while ago via taxi to return to London. He told Molly and me to take the limo back. He also said to say goodbye, and to say thank you to you, Mummy. What did you say to him?"

The Holmes matriarch looked thoughtful. "I believe I told him he should think about making an honest woman of his lady. But he told me not to push him, and that he had things to think about."

Sherlock's lips quirked. "Apparently he thought about them, judging by the haste in which he left. He even left his presents behind too, save that photo of him and Lady Smallwood."

Violet Holmes' brows lifted in surprise. "Really? How intriguing."

"Mummy, I suspect you might go from two bachelor sons to none in the space of a few short months." He smiled at his mother, knowing that was probably her dearest wish, then glanced at his father, who had been standing quietly.

"Well that would certainly be an answer to prayer," remarked William Holmes, speaking up for the first time.

"You pray for him?" asked Sherlock in surprise, looking at his parents.

"Of course we do, darling. Just as we pray for you, Molly and the ba..I mean Victoria," responded Violet Holmes, bending forward to to place a kiss on Sherlock's cheek.

Molly returned to the room at that moment. "You pray for us?" she asked with a delighted smile, seating herself beside Sherlock.

"We pray for all of you, Eurus too," was his father's quiet response.

"Well," said Sherlock solemnly, "apparently you both have a direct line to God, because you have one happily married son with a baby on the way, another son who appears to be ready to open his heart to love, and a daughter who is improving with every visit."

"I still find it hard to believe you told me she figured out you two were expecting before it was even visible, on that first visit you made with Molly," remarked his mother.

"Well, she saw our wedding rings first," pointed out Sherlock. "I think she was just guessing, but she refused to tell us how she figured it out." He looked at Molly and took her hand. "Perhaps it was that motherly glow she radiates."

Mrs. Holmes laughed. "Both of you give off that glow when you are together, and the looks you exchange, it just brings me such joy."

"We have a lot to be grateful for when it comes to my sister too," remarked Sherlock, glancing up at his parents once more. "I know it pleases her to think she was instrumental in bringing Molly and myself together, in righting some of those wrongs from so many years ago."

"I agree," said Molly with a soft note in her voice as she looked at her husband. "God works in mysterious ways, when out of such trauma can come something so wonderful." Then she added, "And I think it is wonderful that she has taken to reading the Bible we gave her and asking questions. Last time she even asked us to explain why it is so important to forgive one another. Then she asked if I truly forgave her for what she put me and Sherlock through at Sherrinford, and of course I told her I did."

Mummy Holmes bent down and hugged her daughter-in-law. "I couldn't ask for a better woman for my son than you. I can truly say I have never seen a couple more in love than the two of you. His transformation has been miraculous since you got together."

"All I did was love him, he did the rest," Molly replied, looking at Sherlock with a soft smile.

Sherlock looked back at her, captivated. "You loved me when I was unlovable, sweetheart," he said in a deep voice. "You were always the person who mattered the most to me, as I've said before."

The Holmes parents looked indulgently from their son to their daughter-in-law. Suddenly, Violet Holmes made an exclamation of surprise. "I didn't notice that lovely necklace of yours before, Molly."

"That's because Sherlock only gave it to me a few hours ago," responded Molly as her lips curved upwards, and she fingered the delicate filigree cross.

"My son certainly has good taste in jewellery as well as women," quipped William Holmes unexpectedly, laying an affectionate hand on his wife's shoulder and squeezing it.

Mrs. Holmes gave him a rather playful smirk as she said, "Just like you, dearest," and Sherlock had to repress a grimace as she continued, "Well, you two must be hungry, would you like something to eat?"

Sherlock and Molly exchanged glances and in unison said, "Yes please!."

Violet Holmes took her husband's hand. "Come, husband. Let's get some leftovers heated up for the young ones." Then she added to the couple on the sofa, "I'll make some turkey sandwiches too for you to take home as well."

"Thanks Mummy," responded Sherlock. His stomach was growling because he hadn't eaten in so many hours. His poor Molly hadn't eaten in just as long, and she had a baby to feed as well as herself.

After the older couple left the room, Sherlock stood and moved to the armchair closest to the cheerful fire, tugging Molly's hand so she would follow him. Then he patted his knees and she sat on his lap once again. He held her against him with one hand, the other resting lightly on her belly and felt once again a tiny flutter. "She moved...didn't she?" he said a little uncertainly. It was such a relief to know he was having a daughter rather than thinking of the baby as an "it."

"Yes," confirmed Molly, leaning into him. "I think she might be hungry too."

Sherlock inhaled the sweet-smelling shampoo he had washed Molly's hair with earlier, as she lay with her head against his chest. A deep contentment settled over him, and he was half asleep when his mother called him and Molly to go to the kitchen table and eat.

The leftovers tasted as good as the meal from the night before, he was so hungry. Molly tucked into her food as well with a hearty appetite. Sherlock's parents sat and enjoyed the food as well. The atmosphere was very peaceful.

There was time after eating, before the limo was due to arrive, so Mrs. Holmes pulled out a scrabble board. It was obvious from the outset that Mummy Holmes was a competitive player, constantly using little-known words and finding ways to make two words at once. Sherlock remembered many an evening as a young man where he had played with Mycroft and his mother. William Holmes was always completely outplayed, so he usually contented himself with watching.

Sherlock and his mother vied for dominance, with Molly trying to keep up with them. The Holmes patriarch didn't even try to compete. In the end, Sherlock claimed a narrow victory, but only because he finished placing his tiles and was able to add the unused letters of his opponents. It had been years since he had had so much fun with a board game, well except for on his honeymoon. The Monopoly games might not have been quite as fun when Molly had exhibited a different side of herself, getting a little upset with his wins, but he remembered with fondness their chess games, especially that game of strip chess which had been rather fun. It was quite amusing to do something like that in a game that had many more pieces to lose than clothes to remove.

He swallowed, realising the tangent his mind was taking might lead to an awkward situation, and forced himself to think of more prosaic games with his brother. Yes, he and Mycroft had indulged in the occasional game of "Operation," but that was never an enjoyable experience because the two were too competitive, and the loser inevitably sulked afterward.

Suddenly he had a new understanding about Molly feeling upset at losing to him those times on their honeymoon.

By the time they finished the game, it was after twelve-thirty. Sherlock and Molly gathered up their Christmas presents, including Mycroft's and got ready to leave.

Mrs. Holmes gave them a stack of sandwiches, as well as a container of stuffing, and one with leftover Christmas pudding. There were also a dozen ginger nuts. "This is too much," protested Molly, reluctantly taking the bag with the goodies and setting it on the the table.

"Nonsense," said her mother-in-law fondly. "You have a baby to nurture, and I'm sure between you and my son, the food will be gone in no time."

"Well, thank you," responded Molly sincerely.

"Don't worry, love, I'll be happy to just eat all the biscuits, and you can have the rest," teased Sherlock, and Molly gave him a playful nudge.

Mrs. Holmes shook her head in amusement and remarked fondly, "Heaven forbid anyone should get between my son and his ginger nuts."

Mycroft's town car arrived a few minutes before one. The chauffeur knocked on the door to let them know he was there.

Sherlock looked at him suspiciously, checking for lingering signs of inebriation. Aside from slightly reddened eyes, he was satisfied the man was sober and fit to drive.

The chauffeur put the presents in the limo while Molly made one last trip to the toilet. Then the couple kissed the elder Holmeses goodbye and walked towards the limo that would take them back to London.

* * *

 **Author's note November 12, 2018:** As I update and improve this story and the chapters have become longer, I have decided to split the last chapter here and publish the rest of it separately. Again, I have included references to the honeymoon in order to add new elements to this story. I have also changed the discussion in regard to Eurus, because I made her progress a lot further mentally in _A Journey to Love, Faith and Marriage_ , which of course I could not have foreseen when this Christmas story preceded my writing of that part of the Journey story by several months.

So, if you read this already and didn't leave any feedback, or it is your first time reading, this is your chance to spread some Christmas cheer to me and leave your reviews. Then head on over to the final chapter...


	8. Heading Back to London

**Special note:** After months of revision, I have just uploaded the updated previous chapters, and here is the final one. _December 20th, 2018_

* * *

After they were comfortably settled in the limo and the Holmes family home had been left behind, Sherlock turned to Molly and asked, "What did you think of your first family Christmas, my love?"

"It was wonderful," she enthused. "I love spending time with your parents. They are such, what's the word?" She paused, searching for the right term. "That's it, they are such _genuine_ people. So down-to-earth. I can only hope our marriage is as happy after almost fifty years as theirs is."

"Of that I have no doubt, my angel," he responded, nudging his knee against hers affectionately.

Molly sighed happily and reached for his hand, squeezing it lightly. After a short silence, Molly remarked, "When we get home, we might have to break out our Christmas crisps, "I'm already feeling peckish."

Sherlock grinned at his wife's comment. Even with all the leftovers, she was interested in eating more? "As long as this time you don't try stealing mine as well as your own, as happened on our honeymoon."

Molly's hip nudged against his. "Don't act as if you didn't like what happened as a result."

Sherlock smirked and released her hand to stroke her cheek gently. That had indeed been rather memorable, when the chase and retrieval of those smoky bacon crisps had led to a rather passionate encounter against a tree trunk. "I won't disagree with you there, but I must insist that you allow me to eat these crisps without provocation, seeing as you _did_ place them in my Christmas stocking for me." Then he added, with a smouldering look at her. "I suspect you were trying to bring up those memories, weren't you?"

Molly giggled and rested her head against his shoulder. "Maybe. Weren't you doing the same thing, considering you put the exact same crisps in my own stocking?"

Sherlock couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. "Molly, my darling, we are always on the same page, just another reason why I adore you. Mark my words, love, we are going to repeat that particular exercise, the tree one, not the crisps, if we ever get back to Stratford-Upon-Avon."

He saw the way Molly drew in her breath at his words and was smugly satisfied with her reaction. His grin widened further at her response. "Not if, Sherlock, _when_." Of course, those words made a surge of desire run through him that he forced himself to repress. Being in a moving vehicle was not a conducive environment for indulging in reflections of past intimacies, nor a place for implementing new intimacies .

Sherlock returned his hand to stroke soothing circles in Molly's palm with his thumb, and they sat in comfortable silence for a time. Then he suddenly remembered something. "Molly, we couldn't do this on the way down, with Mycroft in the car."

She gave him a suspicious look. "Do you mean what I think you mean?"

Sherlock had to chuckle at that. It was rather ironic his thoughts had been wandering in that direction a short time earlier, but these new ones were completely innocent. "Of course not. Get your mind out of the gutter, Mrs. Holmes."

Molly blushed at that, and he gave her a swift kiss on the cheek.

He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a USB lightning charger as well as his phone. "There's a USB port in here. Do you want to listen to some music? I have our playlist ready to go."

"The playlist with our favourite wedding songs?" asked Molly hopefully.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "No, it's the unrequited playlist you made back in the days before we were together," he teased, and she pouted at him.

"Of course it's our wedding song playlist," he said then, smiling at her and tracing his finger lightly across her pouting lips. He plugged in the cord to the port and his phone, then went to the music app and selected "wedding favourites." He hit the shuffle button to randomise the songs.

The first song that came on was Christina Perry's _A Thousand Years_.

Molly gave a dreamy smile. "I love this one. Remember how I put it on to play that night in the flat, a few weeks before our wedding?" she asked, looking at him from beneath her lashes.

Sherlock smirked, taking her hand and linking his fingers through hers. "How could I forget? You had it on repeat, and we got a little carried away." His grip tightened on her hand as he quirked his lips. "As I recall, I told you to stop the music, because if you didn't, we were going to end up in the bedroom."

"One of many near misses for us," she responded, resting her head against his shoulder.

"That wasn't as much of a near miss as on a couple of other occasions," countered Sherlock, turning his head to brush a kiss to her temple.

"True enough," agreed his wife. Indeed, there had been several near misses for them, and some very timely interruptions by either Mycroft or Mrs. Hudson.

As the song reached the chorus, Molly began to sing the lyrics to Sherlock, gazing into his eyes. He loved hearing her sing.

"I have died everyday, waiting for you,

Darling, don't be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years,

I'll love you for a thousand more.

And all along, I believed I would find you,

Time has brought your heart to me, I have loved you for a thousand years,

I'll love you for a thousand more."

As the song continued its romantic melody, Sherlock leaned into Molly and kissed her deeply, caressing her cheek with one hand. He recalled the way they had danced to it during their wedding reception, swaying together really, rather than dancing, observed by their guests. Such sweet, sweet memories. Their wedding day seemed like ages past, yet at the same time he remembered it as clearly as if it had been yesterday.

Suddenly he felt moisture on his face and opened his eyes. Tears were slipping down Molly's cheeks as her eyes remained closed. He broke their kiss, asking anxiously, "Darling, what's wrong?"

Molly opened her eyes and smiled at him sweetly. "Nothing's wrong, Sherlock. This song just speaks to me. I _will_ love you for a thousand years, forever in fact." There was an intense note of passion in her voice, and it made his heart beat faster. He kissed away her tears, offering her his love and devotion.

The songs continued to play, and the couple was oblivious to everything but each other. They whispered words of love to one another, their kissing growing in intensity until their hearts were racing, and they were both breathless.

Finally, they parted for air and Sherlock said, "Do you remember the _Titanic_ film we watched on Blu-ray last week?"

"Well, I certainly don't remember much of it from the cinema, seeing as we were too busy kissing," Molly said pertly, giving his knee a playful tap.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Well, thank God we didn't bother sitting through the whole thing. It was much better watching it at home."

"Mmm" agreed Molly with a smirk. "As I recall, you made me pause the film during the love scene, because you decided we needed one of our own."

Sherlock's lips twitched in amusement. "Well, darling, we needed an intermission. That blasted thing is over three hours long. My legs were cramping."

"I liked that intermission, or should I say - _interlude_ ," said Molly, looking at him suggestively.

Sherlock shook his head at his naughty wife. "There you go again, tempting me." He gave her a mock frown. "What I was _trying_ to get at with this conversation was the utter ridiculousness of them making love in a car that way."

Molly pouted at him then. "You mean you don't want to re-create it in here? You know how I love re-creating things."

Sherlock snorted. "Re-creating our first Christmas was not the same as re-creating a silly scene from a film would be," he stated emphatically and Molly folded her arms, giving him a cross look.

"I'm warning you right now, Sherlock. Another re-creation is coming your way very soon, one from our past. In the meantime though, are you _sure_ you don't want to re-create the love scene from _Titanic_?" Another seductive look.

Sherlock ran his hands through his curls. "Sweetheart, that's supposed to be _my_ line, not yours. Women aren't supposed to make suggestions like that."

Molly huffed and turned her body away from him in annoyance.

Sherlock sighed and reached out to turn her back towards him. "Baby, it's simply not practical. I mean, making love in a moving vehicle can't be comfortable. What if the driver had to stop suddenly?" he pointed out reasonably.

"You are so _not_ fun." Molly stuck her nose in the air and sniffed indignantly.

He placed his hand gently on her face and stroked it. "I'm sorry, darling. No making love in the car." Then in an attempt to placate her, he added, "But we can make love as soon as we get home. How does that sound?" He placed a tender kiss on her lips.

Molly pondered his words for a moment, then a small smile creased her lips. "There's one thing I'll have to do first."

Sherlock furrowed his brow. "What?"

She let out a giggle. "Go to the loo. By the time we get home, I'll be busting."

Sherlock chuckled as well. His adorable wife, sexy and seductive one moment, practical the next. That was his Molly.

"After you use the loo then," he promised and sealed the deal with another kiss.

Some time later, Mycroft's town car pulled up smoothly in front of 221B Baker Street. The couple alighted, Sherlock carrying the bag with Christmas gifts. He unlocked the door and they went inside, climbing the stairs to their flat.

For once there was no Mrs. Hudson to greet and distract them, because she had gone to see her sister for a few days. Sherlock was rather glad of that.

Once inside, Sherlock put down the bag and went to their bedroom, while Molly went to the toilet.

Five minutes later, she was sitting on the bed and in his arms. "Better now?" he asked solicitously.

"Definitely," she responded, winding her arms around his neck, trailing her fingers lightly through his curls and sending shivers of anticipation running through him as always with her touch. She had so much power over him, and she knew it, but she never used it to make him do anything he didn't want himself, not even during the limo ride. If she had _really_ wanted to press the issue, she knew how to press the right buttons.

He nuzzled her neck. "Are you still cross with me for not giving in to your little fantasy of making love in the car?"

Molly pursed her lips playfully. "Yes, so you had better find a way to make it up to me."

"Is that so, my darling?" Wickedly, he slid out a bag of smoky bacon crisps from beneath the covers. "Didn't you say you were going to be hungry for crisps when you got home?"

"Hmph, you know I'm not hungry for _those_ right now," she retorted, snatching the bag and tossing it to the floor beside the bed.

"Just so you know, my love, if you step on those crisps later, don't be expecting any of mine just because you crushed yours," he informed his wife, hooking a leg over her body.

"You talk too much, Sherlock Holmes, now shut up and kiss me," Molly demanded, reaching for the buttons of his shirt, and unfastening them, then sliding his shirt off.

"I _would_ kiss you, if you weren't undressing me," he pointed out, and Molly smirked, before placing a kiss against his chest, and he felt his heartbeat accelerating to a maddening pace.

Then she raised her head to look at him, her eyes deep, dark pools of desire. "Okay, _now_ you can kiss me."

Oh, he _did_ love his assertive little wife. He complied, trailing kisses up her jawline and felt her tremble. Then he deftly removed jumper and blouse, followed by the bra that had caused them so much angst earlier. He stared at her chest in frank appreciation and Molly blushed.

Cupping his hands around each breast as if measuring them, he nodded. "Definitely bigger," he noted. Paying homage to those luscious curves, he lavished kisses on each breast until Molly whimpered and her fingers sought the button of his trousers.

They took their time, exploring each other's bodies with roving hands and mouths, returning to press their lips together often. The joining of their bodies was as intense and perfect as it always was, an extension of their love for one another.

Afterwards, as Molly lay in the encircling warmth of Sherlock's arms, he kissed her hair.

"It's funny," he mused. "I keep thinking I ought to be past the phase of wanting to be with you this way so often. But instead, it seems like I want to make love to you more instead."

"We haven't even been married for five months," Molly pointed out, "and we also waited to be together. Most people have already been intimate well before their marriage, if they even get married. I don't think five months is very long in the grand scheme of things. We're still learning things about each other's bodies."

"So we are conducting experiments on each other to determine the best results?" he asked, trailing his fingers delicately along the curve of her hip.

Molly chuckled. "You and your experiments. I told you I wasn't an experiment."

He pulled her a little closer. "And I said we were friends. How blind I was back then. You were my best friend, and the love of my life. Nevertheless, I highly enjoy conducting our own little experiments together."

"At least I don't have to find dismembered body parts for you with these ones," she responded teasingly.

"Nope, and these 'experiments' have eminently more satisfying results," he agreed.

Molly lifted her head from his shoulder to look at him. "You know what my favourite experiment is, don't you?"

"Of course, my darling. It's my favourite as well." He moved a hand to caress his wife's belly. "It's our nine month long one. Our experiment in progress."

They smiled at each other and kissed tenderly. "I can't wait for the results," said Molly, and Sherlock felt again the slight flutter that indicated their daughter was awake and moving inside her mother.

"Victoria and I agree."

 **THE END**

* * *

 **Author's note:** I hope you enjoyed my first attempt at writing a Christmas story. If you enjoyed this, please review it, and tell me what you liked best. Which chapter was your favourite? Did you have a favourite scene or line? Your feedback is very important to me.

I just love _A Thousand Years_. That song was the best part of "Breaking Dawn, part 1." If it had been released when I got married, I might well have wanted to use it for my own wedding dance.

If you want to read more about Sherlock and Molly's attempt to see "Titanic," check out my one-shot about it, entitled _Titanic 20th Anniversary_ and please leave a review!

You can also check out _First Christmas - Take Two_ , if you want to read about the re-creation of their first Christmas that Molly is referring to during the limo ride. The next re-creation she refers to will be coming on New Year's Eve, so make sure you keep an eye out for it!

God bless you all, and have a blessed Christmas 2017.

 **Update: November 13, 2018.** By splitting the last chapter into two, and adding more detail, including extra conversation that relates back to the honeymoon, I am able to have the opportunity to, in effect, re-release this story, which may have been overlooked by people who didn't want to read it until they had finished _A Journey to Love, Faith and Marriage._

This newly edited chapter is being published following the completion of _A Honeymoon Journey._


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